


Cuddles

by Gem_Gem



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Attempt at humour, Childish Sherlock, Consensual Hugging, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Fluff and Humour, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Jealous Sherlock, John Loves Sherlock, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Most likely Slash, No Plot/Plotless, Non-Consensual Cuddling, Possessive Sherlock, Possibly Pre-Slash, Rough Hugging, Sherlock Loves John, Short Chapters, Swearing, Tight Cuddling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-03-31 22:44:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 30,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3995875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gem_Gem/pseuds/Gem_Gem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is a rough and unrelenting cuddler.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A random short story that I daydreamed and thought it was cute and funny...sorry in advance.
> 
> Not really slash but it could be?

Sherlock had no idea how it had happened, but it had. Perhaps they had been so drained, so exhausted and bone-tired from the case that they had just both collapsed in a heap, and it had just so happened to be in Sherlock’s bed? Perhaps John had tried to put Sherlock to bed, tried to tuck him in, and just dropped with exhaustion instead? Sherlock just did not know or recall how he had come to be in bed with John but he was.

John was spooning him, his arms wrapped securely around Sherlock’s waist and his mouth pressed into the nape of Sherlock’s neck, breath hot and moist over his skin. Sherlock blinked more forcefully, tried to focus, and then reached down to try and unwrap John’s arms. At the touch John inhaled loudly and tensed, then pressed further against Sherlock’s back and tightened his hold. Sherlock clenched his eyes shut in a faint grimace of annoyance and then stilled, waited for John to relax again, and sighed deeply, but silently. 

He flitted his gaze to the amount of light coming in from the window, curtains half –closed, and found it to be quite late the following evening. They had been asleep, together, for at least six hours or more. Sherlock was still a smidgen tired, the edge of his vision fuzzy and dulled, and he adjusted his head on the pillow to see if he could perhaps fall back to sleep for a little while longer, until, hopefully, John woke. 

Sherlock knew what John would do. Knew John would be embarrassed, faintly humiliated by what had happened, no matter how innocent it was, and would probably completely ignore it and Sherlock for at least several hours. Sherlock was fine with that, as long as he did not make it too obvious. Although, personally, Sherlock couldn’t understand it, no one could see them, and even if they could, the position they were in was not compromising, not completely. They still had their clothes on, John still even had on his coat; Sherlock could hear the crinkle of fabric as he breathed. They still had their shoes on, for goodness sake; the bed sheets tangled in a muddy and stained mess over their ankles.

At Sherlock’s head movement, John shuffled closer still, and mashed his face down Sherlock’s collar. Sherlock rolled his eyes and then closed them, hoping to fall back into slumber, but was brought back to consciousness as John lifted his face, pushed it into Sherlock’s curls, inhaled deep, murmured with a contented moan, and hugged Sherlock that little more closer.

Was he like this with girlfriends too? Surrounding and clinging like a limpet? 

Sherlock tried to shake him loose, pulling his body away only to be dragged back into the arms of his friend in the next second. Sherlock huffed, blowing his fringe from his forehead and wriggled, squirming downwards to get out of the loop of limbs and only succeeded in kicking havoc out of the bed sheets and rumpling his shirt up to expose the white skin of his stomach.

The struggle for freedom continued for another few moments before Sherlock growled aloud and turned fluidly to face John with narrowed eyes, “John.” 

John, still apparently asleep, grunted and shifted, almost kneeing Sherlock painfully in the crotch. He pulled Sherlock to him, shoving Sherlock into the outline of his collarbone and the neckline of his jumper, smothering him. His coat was unzipped and it encased Sherlock from both sides with the bite of metal teeth.

“John!” Sherlock tried again, voice muffled and his own breath rebounding back into his face hotly. He jabbed his fingers into John’s side and stomach hard, and was suddenly caught up in John’s body as he yelped and bucked, sitting up ramrod straight with wide eyes.

“Wha-what?” John spluttered and looked down in sudden horror at Sherlock, who had fallen face first into John’s crotch. “What are you doing?”

Sherlock lifted his head with a sigh and was about to explain but John shoved him aside with a hand to Sherlock’s forehead and leapt off the bed, looking around wildly and rearranging his clothes. John stammered under his breath, overly flustered and red in the face, and then abruptly turned and ambled out of the bedroom, knocking into the doorframe in his haste to escape, still half asleep.

Sherlock watched him go and waved a hand after him with an exaggerated roll of his eyes and a puff of breath, falling back onto the bed in an inelegant sprawl.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock wouldn't mind if it happened again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if this is as good as the one before it...but I was asked for more and here it is.
> 
> Let me know if you like it  
> If you want more please leave a comment. I'd like to know if I should make it slash or not. Right now it's just a bromancey thing.

When Sherlock emerged from his bedroom some time later, John was purposely avoiding his gaze and cleared his throat in a manner that expressed his need to not talk about the incident, ever. Sherlock looked skyward in exasperation but obeyed the silent plea and walked passed John without a word, brewing himself a cup of tea and trying to tame the erratic flurry of curls on his head.

Throughout the rest of the day John shot Sherlock sneaky glances from the corner of his eyes and Sherlock pretended not to notice for the first two to three hours, until he had had enough and got suddenly to his feet. He meandered his way over to John with determination and scoffed at the look of utter panic on John’s face as he neared.

“For goodness sake, John,” he exclaimed, and bent over John seated in his chair, looming and pressing into John’s personal space. “Stop it. Stop acting this way it’s absolutely, downright, stupid and completely unjustified!”

“Unjustified?” John echoed after a few seconds tense silence between them, and blinked, frowned, and huffed a nervous and short laugh. “Sherlock, I woke up to your head on my crotch!”

“Only because you put me there.”

“Excuse me?” John exclaimed, voice high in disbelief and eyebrows arched to his hairline.

Sherlock sighed and leaned back to straighten up and look down at John, gesturing vaguely at his bedroom, “You were hugging me, John. Practically cuddling me to death in your sleep, so, I tried to get free and push you away but you persisted, persisted so much that you were suffocating me, and with no other alternative, I jabbed you awake and in doing so fell into your lap as you bolted upright.” Sherlock explained, watching the twisting and reddening of John’s face with an odd thrill of amusement. “It’s a miracle and a mystery why you’ve had no complaints from those dull women you choose to sleep with. Even saying your name aloud had no reaction. If a murderer had sneaked in during that time, we’d both be dead.”

“…Are you saying it was my fault--?” John started.

“I didn’t very well put my head there purposely,” Sherlock interrupted. “If I had, for some strange reason, wanted to perform fellatio on you, I would have at least undone your trousers first.” 

John covered his face with one of his hands, “Oh God…”

Sherlock frowned at him briefly and then exhaled deeply, “But I didn’t. I didn’t want that. I’m just saying that your reaction is purely unjustified because if I had indeed wanted to--”

“Stop! Just…just stop,” John interjected, lifting a hand and shaking his head, only continuing after he’d taken a deep breath. “You realise that I was trying not to bring it up because I thought that you might be embarrassed by the whole thing? It was your head in the…the position it was. I was trying to think of a way to breech the subject and tell you it was…was okay, that though it was wholly embarrassing for both of us, it was obviously an accident and we should just...let it go.”

Sherlock blinked rapidly and then pursed his lips in thought, “Oh.”

“I’m sorry about running out like a scared bloody rabbit, but in my defence I was half-asleep and I had no idea where I was or why I was there or what on earth you were doing. After I’d gotten back to my own room though, and after I’d woken up properly, I realised what might have happened. Knowing you as I do, it couldn’t have been what my sleep addled brain thought it was,” John explained, shifting on his chair the next moment in awkwardness, “Although I didn’t know about the whole…cuddling thing. Did I really do that?”

Sherlock nodded, “Yes. You were quite insistent on not letting me go.”

“Right…” John muttered, clearing his throat loudly. “Well, sorry about that.”

Sherlock nodded again and turned to go but paused, frowned and faced John again awkwardly, “It wasn’t that bad.” He muttered and motioned with his hand loosely at John’s puzzled face. “The hugging. It wasn’t really as bad as I made it out to be. I just…I’m not used to it and…you were—that is I couldn’t really get back to sleep with you clinging to me, and I was hot from the amount of layers we had on and your embrace only added to the--”

John cleared his throat again and inclined his head, “Yes, well, it won’t happen again.”

“I wouldn’t mind if it did. It would have been better if we hadn’t have been in our coats and shoes I think, and maybe if you weren’t gripping me like I’d suddenly disappear once you let me go--”

“Well, it’s my job to keep you safe and not have you run off and get yourself killed because you’re being an idiot, maybe subconsciously I was just doing what I always do,” John said with a blush, standing up and grabbing for his coat and shoes. 

Sherlock watched him with confusion, “Where are you going?”

“I just remembered we need more milk,” John muttered and with a rustle of his keys he left.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is STILL a rough and unrelenting cuddler.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to bring in Mrs Hudson, if even for a short time. I'm not sorry!
> 
> Let me know if you like it.  
> If you want more please leave a comment.

It was several months later when they ended up in the same sort of situation as before, although they weren’t in bed at all but on the settee together and Sherlock woke to find his nose buried in the crook of John’s throat. He had drooled slightly during his exhausted sleep and his lips were slick and red, John’s skin wet and riddled in goose bumps.

Again Sherlock was unaware on how exactly they had ended tangled up together, could distantly remember getting in after three days without sleep and mumbling gibberish, possibly French, before he fell back onto the sofa and into unconsciousness. Had John sat beside him and done the same? Why hadn’t he just gone to bed and left Sherlock where he had been?

Sherlock’s coat and shoes were removed, which made the former more plausible. John must have taken them off and then dropped down next to him and slipped off to sleep himself.

John was, once again, cuddling Sherlock to his body, one arm slung over and around Sherlock’s back, curling and pulling Sherlock into the warmth of John’s side and chest. As a result Sherlock was twisted to lean into him, one of his legs sprawled out over John’s lap and one arm resting about John’s middle, hand lax and draped dangerously close to John’s groin. Sherlock’s other leg and arm were crushed under him, numb but tingling with suppressed circulation. 

Sherlock sluggishly pulled his head up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand clumsily with a pouting grimace, and looked at John when John snuffled and turned his head to face Sherlock and push their foreheads together. Sherlock stared at John’s face, able to make out each and every fluttering blonde eyelash from the close proximity, and blinked, arching his head back a little further when John’s hot breath hit spilled down his chin.

John’s face looked younger in its relaxed state, the creases at his forehead and brows smoothed into nothing. His skin still retained a healthy tan; small freckles dotted the bridge of his nose, and elegant silver strands striped his sandy blonde hair. John had a friendly face, a sympathetic and handsome face; had a sort of face that could be approachable one moment and uncompromising the next. Sherlock had seen it. Sherlock had seen many face of John Watson.

Panning his eyes over every detail of John’s face, Sherlock took the hand around him by the wrist and slowly unwound it. He froze and sighed in frustration when John scowled and tightened his grip, even winding his other arm around Sherlock’s waist in what seemed like retaliation. The firmness of John’s grasp and the strong tug of his arms brought Sherlock almost completely into his lap and Sherlock gasped when circulation was returned to his previously trapped limbs. Gritting his teeth, Sherlock shook his painfully prickling arm and then reached to grind his fingers into his thigh to ease the muscle spasms.

“For heavens sake, John,” Sherlock complained as John snuggled him closer until Sherlock’s cheek was pushed into John’s temple, their stomach’s touching. Huffing, Sherlock adjusted his position on John’s lap with a wince, glancing down to the top of John’s head as he sat back on John’s knees, fighting with John’s sturdy hold on his waist.

“You’re doing this on purpose. You can’t possibly be asleep,” Sherlock muttered and grabbed John’s head, tilting it back to inspect him with a sharp, clinical eye. John’s eyelids fluttered and Sherlock narrowed his eyes, cocking his head aside before jerking it up at the sound of the door opening.

“Yoo-hoo, it’s just me--” Mrs Hudson started until she stuttered with wide eyes, a tray of teacakes clattering in her hands. “Oh!”

Sherlock glanced back down at John’s face momentarily and then looked back at Mrs Hudson with a shake of his head, “It’s not what you think. He’s asleep,” he told her.

Mrs Hudson’s eyes widened further at the statement and she spluttered and frowned, clearly unsure how to respond, “Sherlock!” she finally exclaimed, abashed and stern.

“What? He made me!” Sherlock retorted, a tad childishly.

John grunted beneath him and then tensed rigidly, and Sherlock didn’t have to look back at him to know he was now, apparently, awake, but he did so anyway and peeked down at John to find John staring up at him aghast and red-faced. Before John could manhandle him, as he was sure to do, Sherlock huffed, detangled himself from John’s arms and limped uncomfortably to his room with a blooming blush of his own that he had no explanation for.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hugging schedule begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the comments I received I wrote this chapter! I had so much fun writing it, I was literally giggling the entire time. Seriously.
> 
> Leave a comment if you liked, let me know what you think!

“It was you. You did it,” Sherlock told John the next time he saw him the following morning at the kitchen table.

“Excuse me?” John asked in confusion, brow furrowed in the familiar way it did when he knew exactly what Sherlock was talking about but pretended not to.

Sherlock sighed and gave John a look of displeasure, “Why didn’t you just leave me where I was? You didn’t have to sit next to me--”

“I know,” John nodded; taking a sip of steaming tea and watching Sherlock prance around the kitchen under his brows.

Taking his favourite mug from the cupboard Sherlock turned to face John and pointed it at him with narrowed eyes, “You wanted to do what you did. You knew you’d do it—or perhaps you were testing if you did it, assessing what I had told you yourself to see if what I had said was true? Why would you think I’d lied? You didn’t, so, if you knew I wasn’t lying, why did you--”

“Okay, just stop,” John butted in with a sweep of one hand. “I was tired. I had all but carried you home, and then had to wrestle your coat and shoes off you. Seriously, you squirmed and kicked like a bloody toddler having a tantrum; it took all my wits not to get booted in the face. So, after all that, I was completely knackered. Truthfully, I didn’t think that we’d end up…the way we did, but I was so tired, Sherlock, and the sofa just looked so good…”

Sherlock clicked his teeth together, eyed John up and down, inspected the bottom of his mug, and turned towards the kettle, “I don’t have tantrums…”

“Trust me, you do,” John laughed. “Sometimes when you’re awake too.”

“I do not.” Sherlock retorted.

“Do too,” John countered with a grin that was only half hidden by the rim of his mug.

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

“I do not!” Sherlock snapped, sending a glare over his shoulder at John that only seemed to add to John’s already amused and mischievous mood. 

As the kettle boiled John sighed and rubbed his fingers into his forehead, “Look, I’m sorry about…the…cuddling again. I had a hell of a time trying to explain it all to Mrs Hudson. Thanks for leaving me to handle that by the way,” He muttered, sarcasm thick on his tongue.

Sherlock stifled his smile, albeit unsuccessfully given the bowing of John’s eyebrows, and shrugged. As he stirred his tea he reached into the bread bin and shoved a slice into the toaster, stretching then for the cupboard where John stored his preferred jam. Sherlock was glad of the relaxed and friendly atmosphere, frankly he hadn’t expected it, had thought it would be uncomfortable and infuriating like it had been before.

John got up suddenly and walked over to stand behind Sherlock, silent until Sherlock turned to glance at him expectantly, “I…I have an idea on how to stop the, you know, the cuddling,” John said, clearly embarrassed and uneasy but standing firm and determined. 

“Oh?”

“I was thinking…that…I should…I should hug you more,” John got out clumsily, clearing his throat and avoiding Sherlock’s eyes for a moment. “I know it sounds stupid, but, but maybe if I were to hug you a few times a day, for a bit, say a week, that I would stop trying to crush you to death in my sleep whenever we kip near each other?”

Sherlock turned around and leaned on the counter at his hip, “Hm. I suppose it could work. Gaining the comfort and affection you so desperately crave may go some way to--”

John scowled, “All right, enough. It’s not like you don’t do the same.”

“What?” Sherlock frowned, shaking his head. “I don’t. I’m not the one here whom takes pleasure in asphyxiating another during sleep.”

“No, you just drape all over them, all arms and legs and sharp elbows, shoulders and hips. And don’t get me started on the drooling! You’re like a pointy octopus.”

“What?” Sherlock asked with a sudden bloom of heat up his cheeks, mortified and appalled.

John nodded and crossed his arms smugly, “Oh yes!”

“I do not--!”

“Yes you do,” John argued. “The first thing you did when I crumpled beside you on the settee was engulf me and mash your face into mine!” 

Sherlock gaped at him and flushed hotly, scoffing and shaking his head as he snatched the toast as it popped up with a twang. It burned his fingertips slightly and Sherlock hissed, smearing butter and jam over it with furious and shaking swipes, coating the lines of his fingers in the process.

John sighed, rubbed the back of his neck, and looked skyward in frustration as he nudged Sherlock’s arm, “Come on.”

““Come on”, what?” Sherlock snapped, brusquely.

“Hug me!” John grumbled. “Might as well start it now.”

Sherlock took a large, vicious, bite out of his toast and turned his back to John, “Well tough, I don’t feel like hugging you right now,” he said sullenly around his mouthful. 

John made a noise of annoyance in the back of his throat and stalked away but stopped halfway into the living room and went back, grabbing Sherlock from behind and pulling him into a tense and rough embrace, arms hard and fingers digging into Sherlock’s sides.

“Get off,” Sherlock protested, struggling and squirming. “What’s the point in doing it now? It defeats the whole purpose! We’re obviously not in the right mood to be giving anyone hugs, let alone each other!”

“Shut up,” John muttered, cheek pressed between Sherlock’s shoulder blades. He tightened his hold as Sherlock thrashed further and then jerked him strictly. “You carry on and I’ll hold you for longer! Stand there and let me hug you… and eat your toast.”

“Yes, mother,” Sherlock groused, taking another bite. He relaxed into John’s hold in the seconds that followed and John’s arms slackened faintly, easing up on the firm grasp he had on Sherlock’s waist. The warmth from John’s front was seeping through Sherlock’s shirt and he chewed on the remnants of his toast, licking his fingers clean to pat John’s hand ineptly. 

John pulled back after that, patting Sherlock back on the arm and shoulder just as awkwardly. Sherlock looked over at him and John sent him a smile, cleared his throat, and walked out without a word. The warm spot at Sherlock’s back cooled and Sherlock picked up his forgotten tea.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They hugged mainly in the mornings, just one hug a day over seven days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun writing this bit! They are both so silly.
> 
> Leave me a comment and let me know what you think!
> 
> More hugging/cuddling is inbound I reckon!

They hugged mainly in the mornings, just one hug a day over seven days. There was no discussion about the times or the duration of the hugs, nevertheless they always seemed to be in the mornings, just before breakfast but after the bathroom routine, and lasted for about five to six seconds. Except on the third day John stopped Sherlock in the evening with his hands on Sherlock’s shoulders and manhandled him around before embracing him tightly, face tucked under Sherlock’s chin. Sherlock blinked and frowned, slowly winding his arms around John. 

“What’s this for?” Sherlock asked quietly when the hug lasted longer than any of the others had, John’s hands pressing and pushing at Sherlock’s spine and ribs in what seemed like a clinical manner. They shifted a second later and the impersonal touch was replaced with one of fondness as John patted his back, turned his nose and mouth into his collarbone and then stepped back, hands smoothing down Sherlock’s arms.

“You need to eat more,” John told him sternly with a wrinkle of his forehead and a look that made Sherlock scoff and roll his eyes in response. “I mean it, Sherlock. You’re just skin and bones. When was the last time you had a decent meal, anyway? And takeout doesn’t count.”

“Takeout always counts,” Sherlock retorted, suddenly noticing John’s clothes with a glare and motioning to him with a sweep of his hand. “A date? Who with this time? The one with the glasses too big for her face or the one with five dogs? Please say the former.”

“Sherlock--”

“Or better yet, don’t go on a date at all. Stay in with me. Cook me a decent meal, if you’re so concerned about my eating habits,” Sherlock said with a haughty smile that slid of his face as soon as he pushed passed John, knocking their shoulders together, and moved to pick up John’s laptop with one hand.

John lifted his eyebrows and crossed his arms, “Finished?”

“Is that what the hug was for? What, was it a ‘I’m sorry I’m leaving your amazing company for that of a Twenty-six year old who can’t see three feet in front of her or the woman who smells of dog’ hug?” Sherlock went on, ignoring John and the other look he sent his way. ““Sorry, Sherlock, can’t stay, got ugly, tiresome, smelly women to bonk.””

“Sherlock…”

“Five dogs, John. Five!” Sherlock sneered, sitting down with the laptop and wrinkling his nose. “Five dogs that she obviously has no clue how to look after or train going by the state of her clothes, the fact that she doesn’t wash them as often as she should, could actually be seen as neglect you know. It wouldn’t surprise me if that small apartment of hers were covered in faeces. You know she’s had several affairs in the past too, don’t you? Also she’s a kleptomaniac. Your watch that’s gone missing? Yes, it was probably her, I’d check her pockets and purse if I were you and maybe her wrist too, just in case she’s the type to wear what she steals.”

“Sherlock.” 

Sherlock typed crudely with a hard tapping of his fingertips, eyes on the screen as he went on, “The one with the glasses isn’t much better, mind you. Apart from her immense daddy issues and problems wetting the bed at night, she has a criminal record and a child with one of her exes--”

“Sherlock!” John shouted, suddenly a lot closer than he had been, his face hard and strict. “Enough!”

Sherlock closed his mouth with a snap and looked up at John looming over him, Sherlock’s eyes narrowed and lips thinned before his entire face relaxed and he waved a dismissive hand, “Fine. Go. Enjoy your date.”

John sighed loudly, turned away, and then turned back, hands on his hips, “For your information I’m seeing neither.”

“Oh? A new notch in your belt then,” Sherlock muttered. “Good on you. Have fun. I won’t wait up.”

“What’s your problem?” John asked, frowning angrily.

“Nothing. Go. You don’t want to be late, she won’t like that,” Sherlock intoned, fingers flying seamlessly over the keypad and eyes flitting rapidly over the screen. He waited another minute in silence and then stopped to look back up at John impassively, arching a slow eyebrow at seeing him unmoving.

John stared back at him, face equally blank, but his eyes simmering with irritation. Sherlock took the moment to compare the difference between John’s sleeping face and his angrily unyielding one, picking up on the lines around his mouth and eyes, and the muscle jumping in his jaw. Sherlock’s eyes dropped to John’s hands quickly, noting them flexing in and out of fists, and suddenly recalled the way they felt clutching and grabbing and wrapping around him with an unwanted and unexpected spark of affection up his spine. He lowered his eyes and relaxed his face into one of apology, and John let out a breath, uncurled his fingers and walked to the door.

Sherlock watched John shrug on his coat and slip on his shoes from under his fringe sulkily, and then turned to peer out of the window when John left wordlessly. John stepped out on the curb, adjusted his coat collar, glanced up at him and then hailed for a cab, succeeding after the third try. 

As he got in he looked up at Sherlock once more and lifted a hand with a small smile. Sherlock returned it slowly, his mouth twisting into a smile despite himself, and watched the taxi drive off and turn right. Sherlock’s mind buzzed, flashing with the names and signs of restaurants and cafés within the nearby area before he could stop it, and he pondered how far John was willing to go to meet with the mystery, new woman. It was the first date, so not too far, not unless he was either desperate or confident enough to know he would be staying the night at her place, although, again, first date, people didn’t do that. John didn’t do that. Did he?

Sherlock turned back to the laptop with a huff and considered hacking into the security cameras via Mycroft to follow John but in the end decided against it and got up petulantly to pull the box of noses from the fridge.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blue balls and more cuddles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uni work is getting in the way a tiny bit, but all is well! I hope you all enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it.   
> I think...I think they are getting sillier by the chapter, or is it just me?
> 
> Not sure if I should keep the chapters short-ish and sweet or make them longer?
> 
> Leave a comment and let me know what you think of this one!

When John returned he did so with a smile on his face, lipstick on his mouth, and a skip in his step. Sherlock descended on him as he hung up his coat and stuck his nose in close, inhaling noisily and making John jump and turn around with a sigh and a roll of his eyes. 

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, the edge of his mouth quirked into the beginnings of a smirk, but John cut him off with a raise of his hand, “Don’t start.” 

Sherlock shadowed him as John moved aimlessly around the flat and then to the stairs to go back to his room, and opened his arms wide when John turned to face him with a look of bewilderment and frustration. John looked at Sherlock’s outstretched arms suspiciously, eyeing the expanse of Sherlock’s palms and wiggling, impatient fingers, and arched an unneeded eyebrow, lips pursed. The lipstick mark stretched with the shifting of his skin and Sherlock’s eye twitched.

“What?” Sherlock asked curtly.

John squinted at him thoughtfully and Sherlock blinked in reaction, keeping his expression blank, arms still extended. He let his eyes drift over John’s body in the seconds that followed, annoyed at finding the mystery woman John had gone on a date with not only wore cheap, throat-clogging perfume, but owned a cat, possibly two, going from the amount of hairs clinging to John’s trousers that differed in colour and length. They were stuck to the material of John’s dress trousers, gathered where she had obviously been rubbing with either her foot or shin from under the table. 

Did people still do that? 

Sherlock tracked his eyes up and couldn’t help but scoff aloud at the cluster of cat hair also at his crotch, “Really, John?”

John jerked his head up and frowned, “What?” 

“You really do find the most common, drab, maddening, smelly women to date,” Sherlock replied. “Do you pick them on purpose, just to irk me? Or do you really just have extremely bad taste when it comes to the opposite sex? Did you even eat any of your Italian food? Probably only got in a few mouthfuls before the heels were off, am I right? Do you normally let your date grope you with her toes under the table? I didn’t know you were such an exhibitionist, John!” 

“How did you--?”

Sherlock dropped his arms at his sides and then motioned with them a second later, “Frankly, it’s a miracle that you were able to carry on as normal and eat as much as you did, what with the amount of blood rushing to your genitals!”

John blushed hotly and took a step forwards, “Stop.”

“Was she good, John? Hm? Or was she bad? Oh! Oh, she was bad, wasn’t she? You hated it, didn’t you?” Sherlock asked elated and amused. “What was it that put you off? Toenails too long? Feet too sweaty? Toes chubby and clumsy? Pinch you, did she?”

“You know,” John said loudly, “the way you go on, anyone would think that you were jealous or something.”

“Jealous?”

“Or something,” John nodded, taking another step towards Sherlock and lifting his eyebrows. “Are you?”

Sherlock wrinkled his nose with derision, “What have I got to be jealous about?”

“I don’t know,” John shrugged, “but you’re always like this. Everything is a palaver with you! You’re always making a fuss over it, over me dating. You always hate the women I pick, you always pick fault with them no matter how small a fault it is, and you always whinge and complain and lash out with stupid little insults that just make me want to smack you upside the head. Twice! And possibly punch you in the gob for good measure!”

“Go on then! If that’s what you want to do. No one’s stopping you,” Sherlock badgered him, sweeping a hand at the empty living room. “Go on! Hit me. Do it. If it’ll make you feel better, then do it! Except it won’t change the fact that you were almost emasculated by getting your cock yanked at with the sharp toes of a rejected fashion designer with two obese cats!”

John stared at him, frozen to the spot, and then suddenly huffed out a wavering laugh, “Did you just say the word “cock”?”

Sherlock was thrown for a second and flickered his eyes about the room in confusion, “Yes? And?”

“Nothing. I just…I’ve never heard you say it before, I don’t think. Not sure I’ve ever even heard you swear before, in fact,” John said, mouth pulling up into a wide smile as he began to dissolve into unexpected giggles. “It sounds so…so weird, somehow! Say something else.”

“What?”

“A bad word. A rude word-- a swear word, anything, just…just say something else.”

Sherlock shuffled his feet and adjusted his weight, frowning at John deeply. “…No.”

“Come on,” John chortled. “Say…say, tits, or--oh, I don’t know, say slut. Say fuck!”

Sherlock chuckled, unable to stop the rising merriment as John smiled broadly at him, half gasping through overly contagious giggles. Gone were the anger lines and the stern gaze, gone was the rigid posture with wide set feet and stiff shoulders. John was languid, torso shaking and eyes sparkling with delight. 

Sherlock smirked at him and leisurely, purposely, curled his lips around the last word John had uttered, over-pronouncing it and putting emphasis on the first and last letter between his rumbling drawl, _“Fuck.”_

As soon as the word was out of his mouth, John stopped laughing, and Sherlock’s smile dropped from his face in an instant. John seemed stunned somehow, immobile. He straightened and cleared his throat; a few lingering giggles tapering off awkwardly as he wiped a hand over his mouth, rubbing off some of the lipstick as well as smearing the rest up his cheek.

“Right. Well. Maybe you shouldn’t say it quite like that,” John finally said, still half smiling.

“No?”

“No. Sounded almost… carnal.”

Sherlock hummed in response and twitched the corner of his mouth at John, holding out his arms again as innocently as he could, “I suppose you’re going to bed now. Good night then, John.”

“Yeah, yeah, I am. Been a hell of a day,” John murmured, eyeing Sherlock up and capturing Sherlock’s wrist in one, warm, dry, hand. “Are we upping the number of hugs per day now?”

Sherlock shrugged, nonchalantly, “You started it.”

John inclined his head but made no comment, and stared at Sherlock’s hand, “Two obese cats, huh?” He muttered. “How can you tell they’re obese?”

Sherlock smirked at him, “That’s what you want to ask me? About her cats? Not about how I knew she was a rejected fashion designer?”

“I wouldn’t know if that’s true or not, as I have no clue what she does or doesn’t do for a living. We didn’t really get around to those sort of questions, what with her foot on my groin and everything,” John replied with a boyish expression. “And if we did, I sure as hell didn’t hear her, because, you know, all that, pesky, noisy, rushing blood.”

“Are you going to see her again?” Sherlock asked, looking at John’s hand that still encircled his wrist and dropping his other arm to his side. 

“God, no,” John sniggered. “Don’t get me wrong, I liked her and what she did was…fine…just…just fine, you know, at first. It would have been more than just fine if I was a teenager, which I am not; and neither was she I’d just like to add. She was nice, and it was…an experience, made me feel equal parts shocked, embarrassed, and down right egoistical for reasons I can’t fathom, but she’s not right for me. No. She can find someone else’s balls to poke…and ultimately bruise. I think I need to have a warm soak before bed, actually, ease some of the discomfort.”

“Puts a whole new meaning to the term “blue balls,” Sherlock remarked, grinning ear to ear when John promptly snorted aloud.

“You’re not wrong.”

“Hardly ever am,” Sherlock replied, flashing John a toothy smile when he looked up at Sherlock.

John sighed loudly, happily, and then motioned with his head, pulling Sherlock into an embrace before Sherlock could do more than step forward, “Three a day then?” he mumbled in the space between Sherlock’s neck and shoulder. 

“Hm,” Sherlock replied, annoyed at the smell of John’s date’s perfume. Sherlock puffed a breath through his nose and then pulled back far enough to wipe the lipstick mark away from John’s face with the heel of his palm, showing John the unflattering smudge of red on his skin with a look of disgust.

“Ah. Thanks,” John said. “I knew I’d get some on me. You should have seen the state of her wine glass.”

With that said, John tugged Sherlock back into the hug, cuddling Sherlock to his body the same way he had when John had been asleep the few times that had led up to that point. His hands and arms were just as strong and warm, and gripped and pushed just as tightly. Sherlock dropped his head to John’s shoulder and for a second or two, closed his eyes.

“Clinging limpet,” Sherlock murmured with a huff and a grin.

“Pointy octopus.” John countered.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Redbeard wants cuddles too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You lovely people knew it was coming sooner or later!
> 
> Leave a comment and let me know what you think!

On the last and seventh day Sherlock didn’t know what to do or think and paced the apartment, standing and stepping over the coffee table and settee with irritable grumbling as he made a rough circuit. He looked around, shifting his eyes from the spider lurking in the corner of the room, to the cracks in the ceiling, the ruffles of the Union Jack pillow, the fluttering wings of a pigeon outside the window, and to the stain of tea at the kitchen table, and back again in an endless loop. 

Sherlock growled and grabbed handfuls of his hair. He couldn’t think. He needed a case, needed a cigarette, but most of all he needed John. Snapping his gaze to the door he glared at it, feeling as though he was burning holes into as he scowled and stalked faster, stubbing his toe on the third circle he made of the living room and hissing through his teeth.

During the remaining days Sherlock had made sure to be caught up in the unrelenting grip of John’s arms as constantly as he could, diving from his bedroom no matter how bone tired he was, no matter how much his feet dragged, no matter how busy he was, no matter how dark his mood was, and flat-out refused any of John’s excuses and muffled, amused protests whenever John tried to move to the bathroom, kitchen, or to leave the flat all together for the shopping. John would relent anyway, would flush with affection and return the hug or cuddle with the same rough, strong, warm clutch.

However, since the hugging, the tight and insistent cuddling, John had been touching Sherlock more than he would normally, than he would have before it all started. At first Sherlock thought he might have been wrong, that he was just more aware of John’s presence since being pressed so close, but it was becoming more and more noticeable as the days had worn on. John had always touched him, a hand on the shoulder here, a tug on his sleeve there, nothing overly lengthy or unwarranted, however the touches he was giving Sherlock were unneeded, overly affectionate and some even might consider them enticing. 

Sherlock had been brushing them off, like he had with a lot of things, and blamed the lingering and needing touches to the “job” at hand. They were hugging for a reason, to stop John from nearly suffocating Sherlock if he slept anywhere within arms distance, to give John a boost of affection that he clearly sought out during the night, but slowly Sherlock was wondering if that was such a good thing, if John hugging him during sleep was really that terrible to warrant training John to leave him alone with a few dozen hugs in the daytime over a set period of time. 

Hearing the rattle of keys and the familiar gait up the steps to the flat, Sherlock flew to the table, opened his laptop and pretended to be deep in concentration with some sort of research on decomposing tongues.

John noticed him and smiled as he stepped through to unload the bags of food from his hands. Sherlock went on pretending he hadn’t noticed and deftly typed on the keypad of his laptop as loudly as he could, it was mostly utter nonsense but Sherlock didn’t care and focused more on the way John packed away the peas, replaced the empty milk, and poured several packets of Sherlock’s favourite biscuits into the biscuit tin.

He wanted to hug John longer than normal because of it and he flicked a sneaky glance at him and bit at his bottom lip, furrowing his brow. Sherlock’s leg jerked and tapped impatiently under the table, and Sherlock hoped that to John it just looked like Sherlock was deeply involved in what he was doing. 

The words and images on the laptop screen blurred as Sherlock suddenly shrank back into his mind palace, kicking a nearby wall to vent his frustration. Mycroft appeared to his right and Sherlock shot him a look so dirty and so angry that the Mycroft blinked, shut his opening mouth and walked off, tapping his umbrella to the floor annoyingly. 

There was no John in his mind palace; he didn’t need one, not when he had the real thing whenever he wanted. Sherlock glowered at nothing and ran his fingers through his hair over and over, dismissing the gathering figures of Molly, Lestrade and weirdly enough, Anderson. Only when the beloved sound of pawed feet and the touch of a wet nose did Sherlock relax with a shuddering breath, and Sherlock looked down at his cherished dog, at Redbeard, and sank slowly to his knees to gather the dog up in his arms, offering his cheek for a sloppy but loving lick with a wide smile.

Sherlock sat with Redbeard on the floor of a long, limitless corridor, that seemed to stretch longer with a slow pulse, and tried to organise himself. He had never wanted to be so affectionate to anyone else, Redbeard had probably been the only one Sherlock had ever felt the need to hold, to touch, and to love for the longest time, and Sherlock looked into the dark eyes of one of his greatest friends, and sighed, stroking his soft ears with gentle fingers. It still hurt, the hole that Redbeard had left still gaping and sore, and Sherlock buried his face into the fur at Redbeard’s back with a muffled sound at the back of his throat. 

He listened to the phantom beating of his friend’s heart and clutched him tighter. Sherlock could feel and hear John’s heartbeat too, feel it against his own, or hear it pressed to his ear whenever John had only hugged Sherlock’s head in passing. A tingling shifted his curls and shot down his spine and Sherlock lifted his head with a soft frown.

Sherlock froze as he was pulled suddenly back to reality, hunched over his computer, with John’s fingers at his nape that stroked briefly and then delved up into his hair, combing through his curls and spreading over his scalp. Sherlock swallowed and lifted his head slightly, pressing into John’s touch and John took his hand away only to ruffle his hair again in the next moment and wander into the kitchen.

“Want a cuppa?” John asked casually.

Sherlock frowned over at him faintly but inclined his head, “Yes. Thank you.”

“What?” John asked when he caught sight of Sherlock’s face, filling up the kettle nimbly. 

“Nothing,” Sherlock replied and smoothed out his expression.

John smiled over at him, “What you working on over there?”

“Tongues,” Sherlock replied inanely with a quick glance back at the screen.

“Yes,” John laughed, “I saw that, what about them though?”

Sherlock waved a dismissive hand in response and grinned when John rolled his eyes and opened the new milk, breaking the seal of the top with a snap. Sherlock watched him intently and then, still desperate for some contact, moved to get up to embrace John with a shiver of anticipation. He paused, however, halfway off the chair with wide eyes and quickly sat down again with a sudden and deep blush as he gaped in bewilderment at the obvious, protruding shape at his crotch.

When had that happened? That was certainly a new reaction, wasn’t it? Why was it? What had happened? Sherlock normally had complete control over his bodily reactions, hadn’t had to deal with such things since his teenage years, so the sight of his growing erection puzzled Sherlock completely. 

It couldn’t have been the thought of hugging John, could it? He’d done it and thought about it maybe a hundred times since it had all began and he’d never reacted in such a way before. Had Sherlock somehow crossed a few wires? Had the kick in his mind palace actually damaged something? No, that was ridiculous. Although, so was the throbbing in his groin.

Jerking his head back up at the sound of metal tinkling against ceramic, Sherlock found that John had finished making tea and was stirring it with a hum. Sherlock tucked himself under the table roughly and then crossed his legs after a second, wincing briefly but clearing it from his face the immediately when John turned to look over at him. 

“You okay?”

“Fine,” Sherlock replied curtly, forcing a quick smile and staring back at the laptop screen, willing the blush from his cheeks with a clench of his eyes.

“Here you are then,” John said as he carried Sherlock’s tea over to him, putting it near Sherlock’s hand gently. “This should help get you through your tongue research…”

Sherlock huffed a small laugh and turned to thank him when John’s hand moved from the handle of Sherlock’s placed mug to push into his hair warmheartedly, cupping Sherlock’s head. John tugged him in for another head embrace and Sherlock listened to the thump of John’s heart as his own pulse sped up at the rough stroke of John’s palm and scratching fingers.

“Christ, I can barely understand anything you’ve written,” John muttered, obviously looking at the screen from his vantage point, his voice echoing against Sherlock’s ear in a deep rumble that both soothed him and sent his blood rushing.

“Mm,” Sherlock all but purred, unable to produce any assortment of words, eyes half shut but mind a whirl with a bombardment of questions.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Made up words and secret hugs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait!
> 
> I hope you lovely people enjoy this chapter!
> 
> Leave a comment to let me know! Comments are my life blood!
> 
> And just a warning, at some point, I shall be updating chapters or adding in some. I have glossed over some days, that's why it seems so short a time, but really, months or weeks or days have gone by between some of the chapters, as I've put, so that's why.

Sherlock watched John sourly from his armchair as John puttered around the flat. It had been three days since the last time John had hugged him and it had taken all Sherlock had not to demand more. John had been true to his word, had stopped hugging Sherlock throughout the day, had stopped hugging Sherlock full stop, and Sherlock had been in withdrawal ever since. Sherlock didn’t fully understand or like how much he had come to enjoy and even rely on John’s embrace, but the fact of the matter was he did. He craved the affection like he craved his morning coffee, like he craved a good murder--definitely like a good murder. It had become routine and now that it was gone it was somehow jarring. Sherlock hated it all. He had thought he could have done without sentiment until John.

The only good thing that came of the sudden ceased affection was Sherlock hadn’t found himself in any embarrassing situations concerning a certain part of his anatomy around John again, something he hadn’t exactly found the cause of in the first place. Sherlock had long ago shut down the part of the brain that housed his libido. It was degraded and disused, layered in dust and cornered off with locks and chains. It had always distracted him as a teenager, had commanded attention like a misbehaving toddler, so he had banished it to the dark recesses of his mind and sealed it away. Somehow, however, there had been a crack in its prison and it had flooded his mind and body in a wave of heat at the touch of John’s fingers.

Sherlock drummed his fingers against the chair roughly and narrowed his eyes as John cleaned up the last remnants of Sherlock latest experiment with a furrowed brow. When John shot him an annoyed look Sherlock returned it with one of his own.

“Who is she?” Sherlock asked suddenly, voice curt.

John paused and frowned. “Who is who?”

“The woman you’re eyeing up.” Sherlock explained.

“There’s no woman.”

Sherlock scoffed and picked at invisible lint from his knee, “There’s always a woman.”

John sighed and straightened with a nod of understanding, “Ah. Okay. You’re in a mood and are looking for something to take your frustrations out on.”

“…No.”

“Yes,” John grinned, wiping the table top down with a damp dishtowel. “Well, sorry to disappoint you, Sherlock, but there is no woman. You’ll just have to make do with insulting trivial things like the new position of my chair, or the fact that I’ve stacked and alphabetised your books and documents--”

Sherlock turned sharply to look at the bookshelf, “You’ve done what?”

John shook his head with amusement, “It’s better that way. Be easier for you to find what you’re looking for.”

“I could find whatever I needed just fine before,” Sherlock huffed, getting up to inspect the books in more detail, pulling a face at the new order. “It was perfectly organised.”

“No it wasn’t, it was a mess!”

“It was my mess! I understood it!” Sherlock quarrelled. “Now I don’t know where anything is!”

John walked over and grabbed Sherlock’s wrist as Sherlock reached for a handful of books, “What do you mean? It’s alphabetised!”

Sherlock glanced at the contact with a silent intake of breath and a shiver, then, to prolong it, proceeded to grasp at the spines of the few books at random, “It was perfectly fine the way it was, John! I had no trouble finding whatever I needed whenever I needed it!”

“Bullshit,” John replied, and tightened his grip on Sherlock’s arm.

“It’s not bullshit,” Sherlock repeated, glancing at John’s face as he said the word, happy to see John’s eyebrows jump and his mouth twist. “Fuck sake, John!”

“Oi! Stop swearing, will you,” John said with the beginnings of a laugh stifled. “I know you’re doing this on purpose!”

“Doing what, John?” Sherlock asked, leaning close. “Hm? Fucking what? Everything was fucking perfect and you’ve ruined it with your cocking military twattery!”

John pushed at Sherlock’s face with his free hand and grinned at him, “Stop it. Is twattery even a word?”

Sherlock swatted John’s hand aside but kept hold of it with a loose tangle of fingers, “Yes it spank-y, wank-y, tit-ing well is!” 

“What?” John giggled, looking up at Sherlock in amusement.

“Spank-y, wank-y, tit-ing--” Sherlock repeated, chuckling deeply when John wriggled his hand free to cut him off and cover Sherlock’s mouth with his palm.

“Stop,” John laughed.

Sherlock smirked and yanked John’s hand away, lowering his voice, “Would you rather me say it in a less humorous way?”

“God, no--!”

“ _Spank-y_ ,” Sherlock began with a huskier tone, his smirk widening when John flushed with a wide smile and nudged him roughly.

“Stop it.”

“ _Wank-y_ ,” Sherlock continued.

John pushed him again with giggles trapped in his throat, “Stop—these aren’t even real words!”

“Fine then,” Sherlock sniffed. “ _Spank, wank, tit, cunt, cock, fuck, shit--_ ” 

John covered Sherlock mouth with both hands and Sherlock allowed himself to bask in John’s touch for a minute or two. Sherlock didn’t know how he was going to change the touch to an embrace, but it was good enough to sooth his need for John for the moment. 

“Stop swearing and leave the bookshelf alone,” John told him after he’d swallowed down a bout of laughter. He caught sight of Sherlock playfully reaching for a book and grabbed him by the shoulders, turned him around, and plonked him down on the settee with John at his side, his arm slung over Sherlock’s shoulders to prevent him from moving.

It was a play, a game, an act, and they both knew it. Sherlock eyed John discreetly and eased closer to him as subtly as he could.

“It was fine before though, John!” Sherlock continued to complain, dropping his head against John’s neck, curls crushed to John’s cheek.

“It really wasn’t,” John commented, patting Sherlock’s arm in bemusement. “I even had to throw away a big bundle of them.”

Sherlock jerked his head up and stared at John closely, ignoring the fluttering in his stomach when John turned to face him, their noses only a few inches or so apart, “You did what? You threw some away?”

John sighed and almost subconsciously began to thread his fingers through Sherlock’s hair, passing the motion off the next second by pretending to take something out of one curl, “Sherlock, one was burnt, and the others were either ruined by some sort of spilled substance or torn so badly that there really was no considerable way to make out what the bloody hell the book had once been about!”

“I knew!” Sherlock exclaimed. 

“You probably have every single book memorised anyway, so I don’t see why you’re complaining so much,” John said, fingers resting on the back of Sherlock’s neck, half curled around his shirt collar. “Also, not all of them are yours, some are mine, you know.”

“That’s true,” Sherlock nodded, just to brush his skin along John’s fingers. “Maybe I should go through them, chuck some away and see how you like it?”

“Come off it,” John huffed with a smile as he gripped Sherlock who fabricated trying to get up. “Stop it, Sherlock. My books are in good condition. None of them are burnt or covered in what looked to be vegetable oil, some sort of acid, and vodka. All the type was illegible, Sherlock, there was no way, and no reason to keep them.”

Sherlock huffed and twisted around in John’s grasp so his back was pushed into John’s side and John’s hand was shoved over Sherlock’s shoulder and down his chest to grip one pectoral. Sherlock grinned inwardly and tipped his head back on John’s shoulder, purposely pushing his hair into John’s face.

“They were 1st editions you know,” Sherlock muttered. “ _Fuck_ sake…”

“Enough of that,” John laughed, hot exhale spreading over Sherlock’s scalp.

“ _Fucking_ hell,” Sherlock murmured huskily and couldn’t help but laugh happily when John wrapped his other arm around him to cover his mouth and instantaneously heave Sherlock half onto his lap in the process. 

John grunted light-heartedly, “You just elbowed me right in the gut with your bloody pointy arms.”

Sherlock nudged him in the stomach again in response; mouth still stretched into a beaming smile beneath John’s hand, and then leaned heavily into John’s body when John tightened his hold in retaliation, face pressed into Sherlock’s hair.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grown-men wrestling and hair sniffing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's just too silly. Is it too silly? Why is it too silly? Because I love the silliness! 
> 
> Yes, I know, they are both big kids, and Sherlock just doesn't say what he wants like a normal person.
> 
> Also, found out I can do this >>

The next day, after dinner, Sherlock reorganised the bookshelf purposely to annoy John, placing some upside down and back to front, and Sherlock even hid some books with a playful grin. Sherlock then waited for John to sit down with a cup of tea and notice the change before Sherlock dumped himself down on the armrest of John’s chair and slipped into John’s lap with the litheness of a snake, ducking his head when John lifted his tea out of the way with a huff. Sherlock both wanted to be in contact with John and stop John from messing with the bookshelf again and possibly finding the hidden books, although Sherlock had made sure to make it extremely difficult. 

In hindsight Sherlock knew it was immature of him to do such a thing, just to prove a point, but Sherlock was mad with boredom and testing and playing with John was probably one of his most favourite hobbies. The fact that Sherlock was also starved for attention and affection made the choice to trap and aggravate John all the more appetising. 

“Sherlock,” John started with a frustrated sigh, placing his cup on the floor carefully, stretching over Sherlock to do so. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Sherlock replied, pitching his voice low to gauge John’s reaction.

“Get off my lap, Sherlock,” John said, nostrils flaring when Sherlock crossed his arms stubbornly. “Where are my books?”

“Hm?”

“My books, where are they?” John asked again, one of his hands resting on Sherlock’s knee, the other at Sherlock’s head. Sherlock eyed them knowingly.

“Oh. Don’t you like the new way I’ve reorganised the bookshelf, without permission, putting the books all willy-nilly?” Sherlock said with look of false innocence and blinking with confusion. “But I thought you wouldn’t mind. I haven’t annoyed you, have I?”

John gave him a look that oozed displeasure and thrust his hands under Sherlock’s knees and head in one quick and sudden motion, lifting Sherlock up with a soft grunt. Sherlock, who had been expecting such a manoeuvre, waited until John threw him down on the settee but instead was promptly surprised when John carried him into Sherlock’s own room, chucking him onto the bed. Sherlock continued with his plan and shifted to wrap his legs around John’s waist strongly before John had stepped away. He grinned at John’s look of disbelief and reaffirmed his hold, squeezing John with his thighs, before he lithely arched up and grabbed John’s shoulders, pulling him over and half on top of Sherlock. 

“Sherlock—Sherlock, let go of me,” John grumbled, struggling and almost standing back up with Sherlock clinging to his front. “Sherlock! Stop being so childish…let go…come on, get off.”

Sherlock tugged John down, inches away from butting heads with him, “I’m not being childish.”

“Yes, yes, you are,” John grunted, struggling to stay upright a minute or two longer than Sherlock had anticipated. When he finally fell against Sherlock, it was with a careful arch, the weight of his body taken by his hands as he bracketed them either side of Sherlock’s head.

John frowned as he looked down at him and shifted, glancing down to where Sherlock’s legs looped his waist, “What exactly are you trying to do here?”

“Nothing,” Sherlock shrugged, realising slowly that the position probably wasn’t precisely platonic. Sherlock wondered, again, when he’d gone from wanting John to stop being so close, to wanting John closer. It seemed like a lifetime ago since he’d woken up caught up in John’s arms, unable to escape.

“It’s obviously something,” John muttered, grabbing Sherlock’s thighs suddenly in a rough grasp and pushing them forward and aside long enough to slip his hands under Sherlock’s knees and shove his legs away. “Right, off you go!”

Sherlock tried to stifle his smirk and hooked his ankles together high on John’s back tightly just as John thought he’d won, and laughed throatily when John glanced at him with a sigh. 

“Sherlock…” John breathed, eyeing him thoughtfully and then pursing his mouth to stop a sudden smile. Removing his hands, John flexed his fingers, arched his eyebrow, and then descended onto Sherlock’s unprotected sides.

Sherlock retaliated by thrusting his own fingers under John’s armpits and the both of them froze, at a stale mate. Sherlock felt his grin stretch his face and crinkle his eyes, and exhaled happily when John returned it with a roll of his. John glanced at the bed, looked back at Sherlock and then relocated his hands, shoving them under and around Sherlock’s back, picking him up and rearranging him on the bed, shifting them closer to one side of the mattress.

Sherlock frowned and only realised what John was doing when John reached for his sock drawer and pulled it open, “John!”

“Two can play at this game,” John muttered and dug his hand in, swirled it around and knocked and threw bundles of socks across Sherlock’s room.

Sherlock jerked up, pressing the side of his face with John’s, and grabbed John’s arm with a scowl, unwinding his legs at the same moment. John grinned broadly and backed up once he was free, lobbing socks behind him and then jumping from the bed when Sherlock lunged for him.

“First the bookshelf and now my sock index? Really, John?” Sherlock whinged, watching John penetratingly as John backed up towards the doorway to return to the living room. “Perhaps I should--?”

John bolted and Sherlock leapt after him, running to tackle John only to have John flip him over his back and onto the floor with a loud thud. Winded, Sherlock gasped and then struggled when John straddled him with a smirk, grabbing Sherlock’s flailing arms and pinning them above his head.

“You started this, Sherlock,” John panted, a boyish look no his face as he then pinned Sherlock’s legs with his own. “What you going to do now?”

In a sudden moment of senselessness Sherlock lifted his head and kissed John on the mouth, to which John jerked back and let Sherlock go. Sherlock beamed and switched their positions, breathing hard as he pinned John’s wrists.

“You started this,” Sherlock corrected. “You’re the one that--”

“You just kissed me,” John muttered.

Sherlock’s smile faltered and he frowned, sitting back on John’s hips, blinking rapidly, “I…”

John’s disgusted and shocked face suddenly disappeared and John flashed Sherlock a smile before he rolled Sherlock back beneath him, “I think I know what this is about,” John told a puzzled and awkward Sherlock as John adjusted his hold on Sherlock’s arms smugly. “This isn’t about the stupid bookshelf, not completely anyway…”

“No?”

“No,” John said quietly. “Come here.”

Sherlock grunted in wonder when John hauled him to his feet and then embraced him tightly, his arms and hands roughly pressing their chests together. John’s heart was beating hard and fast against Sherlock’s body and John’s smile widened as he squeezed harder, turning his nose and mouth into Sherlock’s neck, and then up into the side of Sherlock’s head.

“ _Fucking bastard_ ,” Sherlock grumbled, half-heartedly squirming and then draping his arms around John in a surge of contentment when John thumped him on the back in response to the swearing.

“I love you too,” John murmured through a giggle. “…Don’t think this lets you off though. You better get my books and rearrange that bloody bookshelf back to how it was. You know it was better the way I put it.”

“I’ll give you back your books but you can put it back the way it was yourself,” Sherlock told him. “I have to restructure my socks again, thanks to you.”

“Only got yourself to blame,” John replied, gently, speaking into Sherlock’s hair and reasserting his arms, clinging to Sherlock’s shirt.

Sherlock sighed huffily but didn’t respond and melted into John slowly, resting his head on John’s shoulder. John’s body was pleasantly warm and the right contrast of hard and soft, and Sherlock rubbed John’s back sluggishly, picking at the jumper John was wearing with idle fingers. John held on firmer with a slow breath and they swayed briefly but very deliberately, clutching to one another in the middle of the room. 

“You’ve been using my conditioner again,” John whispered.

Sherlock turned to squash his cheek into John’s shoulder and chuckled, “You’re smelling my hair?”

“Yeah,” John replied, fingers suddenly ruffling through it and tickling the back of Sherlock’s neck. “And you smell like me. Stop using my conditioner, you have your own fancy, girly one to tame these curls of yours.”

“S’not girly,” Sherlock responded in a low slur. 

“Its really girly. Smells like strawberries.” John laughed.

“Does not.”

“Does too.”

“Its cinnamon, actually,” Sherlock told him, hooking one arm around John’s neck. Sherlock felt slightly lethargic and leaned a little more heavily into John’s chest, shuffling so that they were pressed almost head to toe, with John’s belt digging into his hips.

John’s next laugh puffed against Sherlock’s pulse point as John adjusted his head position, “Its really not.”

“Make a habit of sniffing my hair, do you?”

“What if I do?” John challenged. “Anyway, it’s sort of automatic now. I can find out where you’ve been and what you’ve been doing by the smell of your hair.”

“Mm,” Sherlock hummed noncommittally. “You smell like chips and tea and you.” 

John grinned and Sherlock shivered, able to feel the stretch of John’s lips against the skin of his neck, “Come on. Let’s sit down on the settee, you big softie.”

Sherlock complained in the back of his throat as they detached and John pushed on his lower back, leading him with a gentle pressure. Sherlock slumped down into the cushions languidly and regarded John from his drooped eyes as John fetched his tea, took a mouthful, eyed the bookshelf with frustration, and then finally sat next to Sherlock, winding his arm around Sherlock’s torso and bringing him close.

With his head pillowed on John’s chest, Sherlock drifted between consciousness, aware of John’s fingers playing at the slope of his back, then the back of his arm. When John had finished his tea, he leaned forwards, put the cup down on the table, and then dragged Sherlock’s legs up and over his lap. Sherlock shifted into a more comfortable spot against John’s chest, tucked his arms between them, and moaned quietly in gratification when John stroked the side of his face and pulled them more securely together.

“Just ask next time,” John whispered, and his fingertips briefly trailed over Sherlock’s lips in a light touch that Sherlock almost missed as he closed his eyes and gripped the front of John’s jumper in a loose grip.

“M’kay.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Return of bed cuddles and a shift in atmosphere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short but sweet and teasing.
> 
> Things have shifted very suddenly.

Sherlock woke alone and cold, and sniffed, sitting up with a crick in his neck and cramp in his leg. He was still on the settee and a blanket had been settled over him, but John was nowhere to be seen. Sherlock squinted at the window, noticed the dark, twilight sky, and frowned, rubbing his thigh before getting up and stalking into John’s bedroom silently, angry at being left for the comfort of a bed.

John was bundled under the covers, breathing deeply, and Sherlock moved over and climbed in with him after only a slight hesitation. John snorted softly, stretched, rolled over and then gathered Sherlock against his body in an instant. Sherlock smiled but nimbly leaned back to adjust his position, limply hooking one of his legs over John’s hip and curling an arm around to clutch at John’s back. 

John’s face was mashed hotly into Sherlock’s cheek by the end of Sherlock’s fidgeting, and Sherlock arched his head back to look at John, squirming down John’s body to tuck his head beneath John’s chin, inhaling the musky scent from his neck. Sherlock liked the position more than he would admit aloud, liked being against John’s front with their chests together and his face cramped and hot in John’s suprasternal notch. Sherlock enjoyed being as close to John as physically possible, but having their bodies aligned and touching in such a way was extremely satisfying and something Sherlock could already see becoming a new addiction. 

As usual, John’s arms tightened roughly around him, squeezing Sherlock with a firm strength that only loosened when John slipped from one sleep state to another. Sherlock let his eyes close and only grunted softly with a frown when John shifted and rolled almost on top of him, trapping Sherlock beneath him as John wriggled, sighed, increased his hold again and kissed Sherlock’s hair.

Basking in the warmth from John’s body, Sherlock almost missed the pressing of a kiss for the feeling of John’s heart beating. He opened his eyes and upturned his head slightly, peering through the darkness at John in a mild surprise that soon skyrocketed at seeing that John’s eyes were also open. John smiled at him slowly and moved his hands to Sherlock’s waist and backside to pull him up and into his chest more, cuddling Sherlock delightfully strong.

Sherlock wasn’t exactly sure John was fully awake, but returned the smile and closed his eyes in pleasure when John kissed his temple with what looked like instinct.

“You and your pointy bits,” John mumbled in a sleepy slur, disturbing some of the curls at Sherlock’s forehead. John huffed a laugh and made a show of smelling Sherlock’s hair, lifting a hand to card through it.

Sherlock, at a loss of what to say, fumbled for a moment and then swallowed, “Did you…correct the bookshelf while I was sleeping?”

“Yeah,” John grinned, dipping his head to look Sherlock in the eyes. “Notice it did you? I couldn’t find my books though, so…you’re going to have to give them back to me tomorrow.”

Sherlock smirked but nodded and John tugged at Sherlock’s shirt with a frown, pulling his arms back, “What?” Sherlock asked. “Nothing a little ironing won’t fix.”

“Yeah, and who does most, if not all, of the ironing around here? Me. So, go get your pyjamas on,” John told him, pushing Sherlock out of the bed with a hot hand. 

Sherlock stumbled to his feet with a pout and left to struggle out of his clothes and into his pyjamas, returning to John after brushing his teeth. Sherlock smiled when John sleepily lifted his head and folded back part of the covers, and Sherlock slipped in with him, pressing into John once more, their foreheads together as John adjusted his grip around Sherlock’s body.

“Is that…is that your…?” John muttered as he shifted his pelvis and looked down.

“Yes,” Sherlock grunted, suddenly blushing and overwhelmingly mortified. “I don’t know why—it’s nothing, just an automatic response to…stimuli of…that is to say that I…”

John laughed and held Sherlock closer regardless, “It’s okay. You’re not the only man in existence to suddenly get a stiffy,” he said in amusement. “I’m kind of flattered, honestly. I didn’t think you ever…you know…”

Sherlock glared at John and hid his face in John’s neck, shaking his head when John tried to pull him up. John laughed again softly and into Sherlock’s hair, and hugged him a little harder, turning to trap Sherlock slightly beneath him again, much to Sherlock’s delight. The familiar weight calmed Sherlock and he nuzzled the side of John’s throat as subtly as he could.

They stayed entangled together for several silent moments and then John kissed the crown of Sherlock’s head with an obvious pressure that Sherlock was meant to have felt. Sherlock blinked drowsily and after a second of deliberation pushed his mouth to John’s clavicle cautiously, nosing at John’s Adam’s apple as it bobbed and then jolting bodily when John manhandled him upwards.

Sherlock peered up at John as he adjusted himself above Sherlock, looming over and slotting one of his hands under Sherlock’s head as he exhaled roughly through his nose and bent down to kiss Sherlock’s parted lips.

“Okay?” John whispered into his mouth, and Sherlock swallowed, breathing into John’s mouth with rapidly increasing breaths. “Sherlock?”

John kissed Sherlock again, very lightly, and then pulled away fully, gazing down with dark eyes and flushed cheeks. He waited another few seconds, seemingly for a response, and when he got nothing but a vacant stare as an answer, John shifted, rolled onto his side away from Sherlock and closed his eyes with a grimace. 

Sherlock followed after him immediately and pressed into the tense line of John’s back, hooking his chin over John’s shoulder, “Okay,” he murmured lowly into John’s ear and sighed joyfully when John reacted by turning to face Sherlock once more and gathering him up in his arms.

John kissed him again but on the cheek and snuggled into him with a huff of pleasure, pulling Sherlock’s head back under his chin and relaxing into the mattress; tugging the blankets around them warmly as Sherlock clutched at John’s back and sides, breathing hotly over John’s skin as he slipped uncontrollably into slumber with his lips tingling and his heart aching.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More kisses and a new relationship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short and sweet chapter.  
> If you think they should be longer, let me know!

Sherlock lazily opened his eyes to the harsh glare of the morning and huffed, throwing an arm over his head. John was tucked behind him, face between Sherlock’s shoulder blades and arms tightly looped around Sherlock’s waist, and Sherlock stretched slowly with a yawn, turning in John’s grasp to face away from the window, pulling the pillow over his head to shield himself from the sun.

John murmured and frowned at the movement and change in position, and stirred enough to notice the pillow wrapped around Sherlock’s head and laugh softly, “Sherlock…what are you doing?”

“It’s too bright,” Sherlock replied sulkily, quirking his lips when John smiled in fondness and pulled the blankets up over them. 

“Better?” John muttered affectionately, pushing the pillow aside to be able to stroke Sherlock’s cheek and then ruffle his hair, twirling a curl around his finger briefly and then suddenly looking awkward. “Um, so…”

“So,” Sherlock replied, stretching the “O” and looking away, adjusting the blanket as it dipped uneasily. 

“We’ve come…far…” John said lamely, frowning at his own words. “I mean, it wasn’t too long ago that you said I was suffocating you in your sleep…and now we…I mean, I—this is harder to talk about than I thought it would be.” 

Sherlock inhaled slowly, “Do we need to talk about it?”

“Yeah…yeah, I think we do,” John nodded, sliding his hand over Sherlock’s with a gradual and gentle pressure, stroking Sherlock’s knuckles and shifting closer. “I…I think we both know that our feelings have changed…right?”

Sherlock glanced at their hands and then nodded quickly, “I want to be near you more,” he admitted. “I like when you…touch me.”

John beamed at him and drifted his hand up Sherlock’s arm, over his shoulder and up against his neck, “Yeah. I like touching you…a lot…it’s taken a while for me to realise exactly how much, and I didn’t think you liked it until recently—I didn’t even realise how much I liked it until very recently.”

Sherlock stifled a grin and turned away shyly when John moved up as if to kiss him, eyeing him from under his fringe and huffing a quiet laugh when John lifted his eyebrows and curled an arm around Sherlock’s torso tightly. John’s hold was rough, pleasurable, and relaxed the unexpected, erratic, thumping of his heart from the start of their conversation. 

“I want to give this a try…me and you…if you’re amiable?” John asked, nosing at Sherlock’s cheek timidly and pulling him closer with a tentative and nervous expression. “Sherlock?”

“I thought you weren’t gay?” Sherlock replied instead of answering.

John pulled back with a blush and a self-conscious glare, “Apparently I am for you...” he sighed, taking his arm back and rubbing his face. “I thought you were married to your work?”

Sherlock watched him, “I am.”

“Right,” John sighed, folding his arms firmly. “So…you’re not amiable?” 

“I didn’t say that.” Sherlock scowled half-heartedly, leaning up on one elbow when John looked at him expectantly. “You could be my affection mistress?”

John blinked and then burst into giggles, pushing the covers back and turning to grab Sherlock around the waist, yanking him close with a flash of a smirk. Sherlock squinted against the light but smiled and chuckled, light-heartedly struggling against John’s hold as Sherlock was dragged across the mattress playfully. 

“I’ll give you “affection mistress” you bugger,” John chortled, wrapping his arms firmly around Sherlock and pressing his face into Sherlock’s neck, lifting Sherlock from the bed briefly in exhilaration.

“Affection paramour, then?” Sherlock laughed, squirming when John cuddled him closer. “Or manstress—is manstress a word?”

John grinned widely and squeezed Sherlock’s sides as he leaned back and looked at Sherlock closely, “You’re going to cheat on your work with me?”

Sherlock shushed him scandalously, covering John’s mouth, “Quiet…she might hear you,” he whispered, unable to hold back a smile when John pulled his hand away, leaned closer and kissed the corner of Sherlock’s lips.

“Right, sorry,” John huffed, kissing Sherlock’s chin, his cheek, and then inhaling his scent from Sherlock’s hairline. “Tea? Will you eat breakfast today? Or do I have to force you…again?”

“You enjoy mothering me,” Sherlock murmured, relishing the affection and touching John’s side with one hand, stroking very lightly. 

“Not always,” John told him as he pulled away, stretched and got up from the bed, pointing back at him sternly. “Don’t you dare put the blankets back over your head. Get up. You’re eating breakfast with me.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and covered his face with the pillow instead, rebelliously turning over on the bed. He listened to John in the bathroom, going over what had happened and how it had led up to that point, confused but overall happy at the outcome. Sherlock didn’t know what to do next, what to expect or what he should say. Sherlock shifted awkwardly on the bed and sighed, frowning and savouring the scent of John on the pillow, he didn’t want to lose John’s affections but he wasn’t sure about a relationship, he hadn’t be aiming for one and yet he’d landed himself, gladly and eagerly, by seeking out John’s arms time and time again. He hugged the pillow to his head and slowly grinned into it when John walked back into the bedroom and pulled him across the mattress by the ankle.

“Up!” John ordered with a smile, snatching the pillow from Sherlock’s fingers and then marching Sherlock into the bathroom. “If you’re not in the kitchen in ten minutes… I’ll tell your work about us.”

“You wouldn’t!” Sherlock gasped, playing along and then waving John away, pretending to be annoyed when he walked over and hugged Sherlock closely. John ran a hand through Sherlock’s hair freely but with a hint of shyness, and then walked back into the kitchen, peering back at Sherlock over his shoulder as he went.

Sherlock swallowed and scratched the back of his neck apprehensively, flushing as he turned to look at his own reflection, touching where John had kissed him and then drumming his fingers against his tensed lips before he washed his face. He already craved more of John’s touch, and felt cold without his presence. Sherlock knew it was stupid, knew that once he met John in the kitchen they’d be talking further about the shift in their relationship, and he wasn’t sure what he was going to say, Sherlock didn’t want to ruin anything, he didn’t necessarily want things to go back to how they were, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted things to progress into something more either. Sherlock sighed loudly and shuffled moodily from the bathroom to fetch his dressing gown and join John in the kitchen.

John smiled at him casually and gestured to the kitchen table, “Sit. I’m making a full English, for a change, and you will eat it.”

Moving around Sherlock pulled out a chair and was stopped for a brief but firm and glorious hug, John’s fingers clasping his side firmly, “…You must be in a good mood.” Sherlock mumbled with a small smile.

“Aren’t you?” John retorted, eating a piece of bacon and then handing Sherlock a cup of tea.

“Yes…” Sherlock said quietly, cradling the cup in his long fingers and contentedly. “I suppose I am.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five dead bodies and a grinning Lestrade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait!  
> Things have been really busy.  
> My University Degree Show and the death of Christopher Lee halted my progress with writing. I really hope you lovely people like this chapter. I'll say now, that there won't be any in-depth cases, just suggestions of some, this story is about Sherlock and John and their growing relationship, not detailed investigations. However, if you want cases tell me, but the chapters will take longer to come out as I'd have to plan everything out beforehand. Let me know!
> 
> In addition some time has passed since the last chapter, so please keep that in mind. John and Sherlock have somewhat (but not completely) settled into their new routine and into their new and budding relationship thing-y!

Sherlock dashed from his room and skidded to a stop before a bemused John, grinning as he rocked on his heels excitedly, “A case, John! We’ve finally got a case! Get your coat!” he said, grabbing and throwing said coat at John’s head. “Ooo-oh! John, it’s brilliant, it’s fantastic! Two, possibly three, serial killers working in cahoots!”

“Okay, all right,” John laughed as he shoved his shoes on, pulled on his coat and walked over to watch Sherlock with amusement. “Calm down, you mental case.” 

Sherlock grinned and reached down to take John’s hand, “Come on, Lestrade’s waiting. There’s five bodies, all headless, handless and legless.”

“So…five torsos?” John snorted, entwining their fingers and then fixing Sherlock’s collar before tugging him down to kiss him gently on the cheek. 

“Yes, yes!” Sherlock nodded, leaning into the kiss and then leading John out of the flat and into awaiting taxi. “I’ve been so bored, it’s been so dull! This is marvellous!”

John sighed affectionately, “Thanks for that. You’ve been spending all that boring time with me.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Oh, hush,” he huffed, sloping against John when he wiggled an arm around Sherlock’s waist tightly. His legs were jerking excitedly and he beamed at John who squeezed him close. 

The ride was long and annoying for Sherlock and he fidgeted and squirmed, ignoring the frustrated look John shot him. Sherlock was buzzing with anticipation and adrenaline, it had been a long time since he’d had anything to occupy his mind and he was almost suspicious that it was too good to be true, leaping from the taxi as it pulled up to the curb.

The bodies were arranged in an odd line in a dirty, decrepit living room and Sherlock eyed them penetratingly, stalking around the room and crouching down next to the first torso when John trailed in after him, standing beside Lestrade with a friendly grin.

John and Sherlock hadn’t spoken anymore about their new relationship, and apart from the occasional kiss from John, daily hugs and sleeping intermittently in the same bed as one another, nothing more had changed, Sherlock still made a mess of the kitchen and hacked John’s laptop, and John still complained about the violin playing and the body parts in the fridge. Sherlock knew that they would be talking more about the new developments again, knew that John would start the discussion once more, and wondered when exactly it would be. Later on that day? The day after? 

Sherlock turned his back on John when he spotted him murmuring to Lestrade and tried to concentrate solely on the corpses, finding, to his displeasure, that it really had been too good to be true.

“Got anything, Sherlock?” John suddenly inquired in his ear, and Sherlock turned his head to find John crouched beside him with a smile, his hand lifting to touch Sherlock’s shoulder. Behind him, Lestrade was grinning widely, looking amused and almost smug. 

“You told him,” Sherlock stated.

“Yeah,” John shrugged, narrowing his eyes. “He’s my friend. Why? You didn’t want him to know?”

Sherlock frowned gently and glanced back at Lestrade, “No. No, it’s…fine.”

“Good,” John nodded, gesturing pointedly at the dead carcass below them. “So?”

“Boring,” Sherlock sighed, leaning into John’s hand as he motioned with his own. “This was done by one person. One killer, not several like I had been led to believe; still, I suppose it’s something as without heads, arms and legs, there’s little to go on.”

“But?” John asked knowingly. 

Sherlock smirked, faintly arrogant, and inclined closer to John, “Why don’t you tell me? I don’t just bring you with me because of your pretty face.”

John scoffed with a charmed grin and knelt properly down beside one of the corpses with a clinical gaze, shifting to look at the way the limbs had been cut off, as well as the head, his brow furrowed in concentration. 

“Well, whoever did it knew what they were doing. It’s very precise. The stitching is…remarkable. It looks to be the same person doing the stitching but they are using different sorts of stitches for different areas; almost as if they are…practicing, yet the technique is too good, much too good, to be some amateur. If they were practicing, then they’ve been practicing for a while.”

Sherlock smiled widely, “Yes, that is true.”

John waited and then moved up to be close to Sherlock again. “But?”

“No but. What you said is perfectly true,” Sherlock told him. “The person that did this is not an amateur. The killer is a surgeon. A good one.” He glanced around at the other bodies with an analytical and analysing eye, noticing that though some things were different, it was purposely different, as if the killer wanted people to think there was others involved. Sherlock frowned a second later and moved over to another body with interest, bending down next to it, happy when John followed to press to his side.

“What?” John asked, moving closer still until their shoulders touched.

“It’s purposeful, so much so that Lestrade noticed the variances. Granted he got it all wrong—”

“Oi!”

“—But he noticed it, that means something,” Sherlock muttered, jumping to his feet and scanning the room around them once more. 

John watched him and wandered back to Lestrade, sharing a smile with him and nudging him in the side when Lestrade winked, motioned between him and Sherlock and gave John thumbs up. They beamed at each other and John blushed, shrugging in response to their silent conversation, and turning his head away biting his lip to stifle a laugh when Lestrade wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and rocked on his heels.

Sherlock noticed and huffed, grabbing John’s arm to separate them on his third circle of the room, pulling John with him and shooting him a look of half-hearted annoyance.

“What?” John grinned.

“We’re not in High School anymore, John. Grow up,” Sherlock griped. “There’s dead bodies. It’s a crime scene, not a playground.”

“Says you, jumping about with glee at the thought of the person who put the dead bodies there,” John said under his breath.

Sherlock turned to him suddenly, “You told Lestrade on the day, after breakfast when I’d gone to get changed, that’s why you were giggling to yourself.”

John’s mouth warped on a smirk as folded his hands behind his back and tilted his head, “Yeah. Course.”

“…Why?”

“Why not? I was happy and…and…well, I wanted to…to share it with someone,” John explained, clearing his throat timorously. “I…also told Mike.”

Sherlock blinked, “Mike Stamford.”

John adjusted his weight anxiously, “Well, he was the one to introduce me to you…I wanted to…to—you know, thank him.”

“Thank him? “Thanks ever so much, Mike. I’m well chuffed with what you gave me, couldn’t have asked for a better set up, let me buy you a pint”?” Sherlock said indignantly, mimicking John with a childish huff but jokingly shaking his head in apparent disappointment. “You’ve obviously never cheated before, you’re not meant to tell everyone about the affair you know. Who else have you told?”

“Don’t worry. I trust them, they’ll keep it a secret from your work, don’t you worry,” John replied good-humouredly with a wink and another blush. “And no one else, so shut your gob and let me bask.”

Sherlock frowned, “Bask?”

John shrugged, “Yeah…been a while since I was this happy so…just let me bask in it for a while. I know it’s silly and…a tad complicated and new and strange, but, I am happy…”

Sherlock glanced back over at an entertained looking Lestrade, whom gestured impatiently at the corpses when he locked eyes with him. Sherlock adjusted his collar, sniffed with a glare, and bent back over the bodies, stopping John from going back over to Lestrade with a hand on his shoulder, ignoring John’s amused chuckle.

Lestrade sniggered and shook his head but stayed where he was and regarded Sherlock from afar, only walking over when Sherlock gestured at him petulantly to recite what he had found at the scene, keeping John back and flushing when John entwined their hands, making Lestrade smirk. 

“Stop it,” Sherlock complained, talking to the both of them but rubbing his thumb over John’s knuckles. “I’m fed up of the smiles and the looks already.”

“Oh, for goodness sake, Sherlock,” Lestrade said, sharing a glance with John briefly. “I’m just happy for you--”

“And because you won the betting poll,” Sherlock interjected.

John frowned, “What betting poll? There was a betting poll? What…about Sherlock and I?”

“Obviously,” Sherlock muttered.

Lestrade shot John a boyish grin, “Don’t tell me you didn’t know, John? Been loads of them over the time you moved in with Sherlock—Listen, let’s not talk about that right now anyway, there’s a killer I’d love for you to point me into the direction of, Sherlock, if you wouldn’t mind?”

“Fine…but no more looks, it’s putting me off,” Sherlock told them both.

“Fine,” Lestrade and John said in unison, both of them grinning and making Sherlock narrow his eyes.

“Stop that!”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talk of love and returned kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello to all those lovely people that like this story!
> 
> So, so, so, so, sorry about the wait! I was in a bit of a rut, then I was busy with University, and then I got distracted by the other stories I am flitting between on this profile. I know what you're thinking, excuses, excuses!
> 
> I really hope you like this chapter, it made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside and cheered me up a lot.  
> Please let me know if you want more of this, and if you are still all reading and wanting updates for this!
> 
> Feedback fuels me!

Sherlock huffily dropped to the sofa back at the flat, burying his face in one of the pillows, and letting out an annoyed groan. The case hadn’t taken long to solve and Sherlock felt unsatisfied and moody because of it, it had started off with promise, even after finding out it wasn’t as big of a case as he had first thought, but it had fizzled out to nothing and Sherlock was able to apprehend the killer in less than twenty-four hours. 

“Having a tantrum now, are we?” John sighed as he followed Sherlock in, shrugging out of his coat and kicking off his shoes. “Come on, Sherlock. It was fun while it lasted, at least? You enjoyed yourself, didn’t you? If only partially?”

“It hardly lasted at all,” Sherlock replied, voice muffled by the pillows. “And I did not enjoy myself, not with you and Lestrade giggling like a couple of school girls behind my back every few seconds.”

John huffed in amusement and then suddenly sat down on Sherlock’s legs until Sherlock grunted, whined in objection, and squirmed free to sit up beside a pleased looking John. Sherlock scowled sulkily but allowed John to gather him up in his arms, enjoying the tightening embrace and angling his head when John stroked one hand through his hair and leaned to kiss Sherlock on the temple. John caressed his scalp and the side of his face, folding down the collar of Sherlock’s coat which he still wore, and resting his mouth in Sherlock’s hair.

His actions towards Sherlock were still slightly nervous and innocently timid, something that Sherlock appreciated immeasurably, but the more that time went on, the more John touched and hugged and kissed Sherlock. Although John had been adamant before about correcting people about the state of their friendship, it seemed that now he was adamant not to, and instead flashed Sherlock an impish and contented expression whenever it was hinted at or brought up, sharing his delight with a grinning Lestrade. Sherlock wasn’t entirely sure how to react to the change, he wasn’t unhappy about it, but he wasn’t exactly pleased about it either; there was a reason Sherlock was married to his work and had no interest in relationships with anyone, and this was partly why; it got in the way, it created chaos and distractions, and Sherlock had seen how it destroyed lives and generated problems on more than one occasion. Some of the best crimes had been committed because of broken relationships and the blinding acts of so-called love.

“You know…you’ve not kissed me,” John murmured against his skull, squeezing Sherlock’s body closer.

Sherlock arched an eyebrow and opened eyes he didn’t recall closing, and glanced at John sideways, “What? Yes I have.”

“No,” John said with a sigh but smiling. “You haven’t, I’ve kissed you, but you’ve not kissed me. Not yet…”

Sherlock frowned and looked away, “I remember kissing you…granted it was your collarbone but it was still a kiss, of sorts,” he mumbled, picking at the sleeve of his coat idly, ignoring the meaningful look John seemed to be giving him.

John exhaled in disappointment after a while and played a little longer with Sherlock’s hair, twirling and rubbing his curls between his fingers, nose still pushed to Sherlock’s head, before he leaned back, patted Sherlock’s thigh, and got up with a soft grunt.

“Take your coat off. I’m going to brew us some tea,” John said as he scratched the back of his neck and wandered off into the kitchen. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and flopped back down across the sofa grumpily, hiding his head under his arms, until the clattering in the kitchen made him lithely get to his feet with a frustrated sigh. Shrugging off his coat, Sherlock went over to John with a pout that was unseen, and lingered behind him, itching for a another embrace and flushing with a glare at how badly his body wanted human contact since John had introduced it. Sherlock felt like John was pulling the strings in their relationship, dangling affection in Sherlock’s face only to take it away again whenever he felt like it.

“Must I?” Sherlock sighed, waiting for John to look around at him before continuing. “That part of our…relationship has only recently been added. I’m unused to it.”

John nodded, “Okay. Yes… yeah, that’s understandable, but this is new to me too, you know. I’ve never done this before, not with a bloke,” he said, fidgeting awkwardly, rubbing his brow and crossing and then re-crossing his arms.

“But you have done this, so you’re already one step ahead of me, you’re already well experienced in this field—immensely so, considering how many girlfriends you’ve had.”

“Yes, all right. There’s no need to bring that up,” John huffed, glancing away but looking back in the next second. He inspected Sherlock carefully and then stepped close and pulled him into a hug that Sherlock thrilled at and melted into, his head coming to rest on John’s shoulder all too quickly. John smoothed a hand up and down his back, until the kettle clicked and he turned towards it, grabbing Sherlock’s hand in the process and pulling him near.

Sherlock looked at their loosely entwined hands and shuffled nearer to John’s body, hooking his chin over his shoulder and watching him make them both tea, happy to see John’s mouth quirk. John squeezed his hand, stroking Sherlock’s knuckles and fingers as he stirred a few teaspoons of sugar into Sherlock’s tea.

“I love you,” John said quietly without looking at him. “You probably know that. You’re my best friend so…of course I love you—God, I don’t know why I’m saying this. I…I just…think you should…know…even if you already…know.”

Ducking his head, Sherlock hid his mouth in the line of John’s tensed shoulder and flicked his eyes away uneasily, “…Thank you,” he mumbled, not exactly knowing how to respond. 

John snorted and shook his head, “Did you honestly just say that? You… thanked me, really, Sherlock?”

“Yes?” Sherlock scowled. “I don’t know what else to say. What am I meant to say?”

“Take your tea, you great, idiot,” John laughed, slipping out of Sherlock’s company and walking to sit in his chair, shaking his head again before he took a sip of tea and turned on the television. 

“You’re doing this on purpose,” Sherlock muttered as he tightened his lips, clenched his eyes, picked up his mug, and stamped over to John, looming over him. “What do you want?”

John sighed and looked up at him, “Nothing, Sherlock. Sit down.”

“You want me to say it back,” Sherlock presumed, tilting his head. “Is that what people do? They’re just words, John, can’t I express my feelings towards you through other means?”

“Sure,” John nodded, putting his tea down and smiling up at him mockingly. “Give me a kiss.” 

Sherlock pressed his lips together with narrowed eyes, “And if I don’t?”

“Nothing,” John shrugged. 

“Liar.”

John rolled his eyes, “I’m not going to make you do anything, Sherlock, but it would be nice to be the recipient for once, that’s all. To know that you…that you…enjoy what…what has developed between us. I know it’s all fairly new, but I had assumed you were okay with it, even wanted it, and it would be lovely, wonderful in fact, if you showed that a little. I know what you’re like, I know you don’t go into all this “sentiment” stuff but humour me, if only for a few minutes a day or something.”

Sherlock got to his knees beside John’s chair and leaned on the armrest, “You like being the one whom--”

“Kiss me,” John interrupted, blushing and clearing his throat gently, looking bashful and embarrassed but determined. 

“John--”

“Please,” John cut in with a sigh, unable to look Sherlock in the eyes for long.

Sherlock breathed deeply and slowly through his nose, feeling just as self-conscious for a second, and then moved forwards, angling his head to slope their mouths together softly, leaving their lips connected for a few seconds before moving back and looking at John hopefully, lifting his eyebrows. The kiss had been dry but soft and sweet, and it left Sherlock’s mouth throbbing very faintly.

John beamed at him leisurely, looking dazed and lightheaded, “Sit on the settee,” he murmured.

Frowning, Sherlock looked back at it and moved over, thrumming with anticipation, and excessively ecstatic when John followed him, putting both their mugs of tea on the table and yanking Sherlock against his body, cuddling him so enthusiastically that Sherlock grunted with a smirk, having the air knocked out of him.

“Look at me,” John mumbled with a grin, leaning his head back as Sherlock obeyed and turned; John looked at him cheerfully and pushed his fingers up over Sherlock’s cheekbone and then down along his jaw, tilting his chin up with two fingers to kiss him and whisper against him, “Kiss me back…”

Sherlock tensed apprehensively but pursed his lips and returned the kiss, something that made John smile widely against his mouth and cuddle him harder and closer. Sherlock puffed out a breath of quiet laughter and John responded with a low chuckle of his own, kissing Sherlock again and nuzzling the side of his cheek, squeezing Sherlock into his body firmly, encouraging Sherlock to grip him back, and then rewarding him with another kiss and a cuddle.

“Were you…shocked that I told Lestrade about…me and you?” John asked casually. “Or were you maybe embarrassed by it?”

“Neither,” Sherlock mumbled quietly, closing his eyes slowly when John stroked his back and shoulders. 

“Really?”

“Hm-mm,” Sherlock answered.

John kissed his ear lightly, “Liar.”

“Shut up,” Sherlock groused, moving his face to John’s chest and curling up into John’s constricting embrace, pulling his feet up off the floor until John complained and tugged off the shoes he had neglected to remove.

“It’s okay,” John continued, tucking Sherlock’s socked feet under his thigh. “I probably should have told you sooner. I think I just automatically assumed you’d know, because, well, because you are you, after all.” 

“Not a mind reader,” Sherlock exhaled. “And I was…distracted.”

“Oh? I thought you had been ever so bored, and everything had been so incredibly dull before today?” 

Sherlock lifted his head to glare at a smirking John and exhaled indignantly, shuffling to lean into his side and reach for his tea, “I was distracted by you.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” Sherlock nodded, blowing on his tea with a quirk of his lips. “Obviously.”

John watched him, looking smug and desperately exultant, “Yeah. Obviously.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jealous kisses and takeaway dancing

Sherlock had known it was bound to happen sooner or later, but he still found that the scene was hard to watch, that there was a deep, horrible ache in his chest and a sting behind his eyes. John was essentially flirting with some woman on the street. Did he know her? How long had he known her? No, he didn’t know her, in fact he had only just met her, so why was he acting as though he knew her, touching her and smiling at her? Sherlock glared and clenched his teeth; he knew that they had not officially said they were anything, if in fact they were something, however John had told Lestrade, told Mike, about them, so that told Sherlock that John was somewhat committed to what they were doing; why then, was John flirting with this random woman?

Sherlock had followed John around the streets, as he often did, and was suddenly wishing he hadn’t bothered. John was beaming and leaning close to the woman with a charming expression and a playful disposition, and Sherlock huffed and turned his piercing gaze onto the woman, tilting his head as he focused on her with everything he had. The smile that had been growing on his face stuttered and fell as he zeroed in on the cat hair clinging to her tights; it was the mysterious crotch prodder that John had briefly dated, the fashion designer with the obese cats. Sherlock frowned deeply and pressed his lips together, and after only a very brief indecision, walked over with a determined and rigid stride, and stepped into John’s line of view.

“Oh, Sherlock! Um, hi? What are you doing around here? I thought you were busy with some sort of experiment of some kind?” John asked, looking surprised to see him but smiling happily.

Sherlock opened his mouth to respond but the sight of the woman eyeing John up expectantly made him pause, “John, aren’t you going to introduce us?” she asked with a red lipped smile.

John glanced at her awkwardly and tipped his head, “Right, yes. Susan, this is Sherlock Holmes; Sherlock, this is Susan,” John presented.

On closer inspection, Sherlock noticed that the woman was not the fashion designer he had thought she was, but instead was the sister of said fashion designer, a twin sister if he had to hazard a guess. Sherlock pulled his mouth into a small, but momentary, smile and ignored her outstretched hand to instead turn towards John. John was frowning in reprimand of Sherlock’s rudeness, folding his arms, and Sherlock grinned at him, pushed aside a strong fluttering of apprehension, and leaned towards him to kiss him lightly on the mouth.

When he moved back, John had his eyes half closed and was flushed and smiling in shock. Susan clapped cheerfully with a squeaking giggle, clearly finding the entire situation adorable, and Sherlock shot her a timid expression, liking her better than her sister. Relieved that nothing could happen now that he had outwardly expressed his affections, Sherlock waited for a reaction from John with his hands folded neatly behind his back and rocked uneasily on his heels, realising other members of the public had seen what he’d done and even a few had taken photos. Sherlock clenched his eyes shut with an inward wince and glanced upwards at a nearby security camera, fighting back a sudden blush that heated his face uncomfortably. 

“How marvellous,” Susan said at last, her smile wide and happy, “but, John, I really must dash, I’ve got an interview in twenty minutes. Sherlock, it’s been a pleasure, truly! See you later, John!”

“Hm? What? Oh, right! Yes, of course, bye Susan,” John stuttered, flustered, blinking rapidly and lifting a hand at her as she jogged daintily passed them on her heels, flashing them both an overly pleased grin. 

Sherlock smiled at her in return and avoided eye contact with John only until John stepped up to him, “She’s… nice,” Sherlock said after twisting his mouth with embarrassment. 

“Mm. Yeah, she is, though I doubt that you thought that at first, otherwise you wouldn’t have kissed me. In public. Out of the blue. You did it to stake your claim on me, to chase her away and to stop any sort of relationship that you stupidly thought would happen between us. Is that about right?” John asked, arching his eyebrows.

“No,” Sherlock mumbled, looking down at his shoes, focusing on the scuffmarks that had been created when Sherlock had scrambled through a window after some moron murderer.

“Sure,” John scoffed. “Well, congratulations, you’ve now let everyone know that you and I are in some sort of romantic relationship--”

“Romantic,” Sherlock repeated quietly.

John shifted his weight, “Yes…you don’t agree?”

“I don’t know what we are in,” Sherlock told him truthfully with a shrug, looking up at John with an impassive face. “You’re my friend and I like being close to you but I…don’t know about…”

John frowned at him forlornly but nodded, grabbed Sherlock’s hand and pulled him back to the flat with a face of thunder and a firm, unyielding grip. Sherlock fumbled only once up the stairs and turned to face John with a sigh when he slammed the door shut and stepped up close to Sherlock in the living room. 

John stared at him firmly, “This isn’t a game, Sherlock.”

“I know, it isn’t.”

“Friends don’t kiss each other like I kiss you,” John told him. “I’m not one to kiss people at random, I kiss people that I…I feel a great deal for...”

Sherlock nodded slowly, “Yes. I feel a great deal for you too--”

“I had thought that we were, slowly, trying out a different sort of relationship between us, one that is romantic? Sure nothing is…is official, not yet, but there is still something there, there is still a shift, I didn’t kiss or hug you before, did I? So we’ve changed the dynamic of our relationship. Yeah?”

“Yes,” Sherlock sighed.

John’s jaw jumped in annoyance, “You do want this change? You do want me to hug and…and kiss you, don’t you?”

Sherlock nodded slowly and after a look John shot him, he swallowed and spoke, “Yes.”

“Well, that’s a romantic relationship, of sorts. You don’t have to call me your…your boyfriend or anything, but we aren’t just friends anymore, we are more than that now and I…I…I really like that,” John said, ignoring his blush and crossing his arms. “And I know you like it too, and I know you evidently want to keep me from being with anyone else, as a few moments ago showed, so I don’t see how you can’t think we have a romantic relationship? You saw me with Susan, you got jealous, and so you kissed me to own me and to push her aside, to dissuade her.”

Sherlock shrugged out of his coat roughly, “You were talking to the sister of that horrid woman--”

“You were jealous,” John interjected. “And now, you’ve advertised, more than I ever have, that we are…involved in some way. I saw you looking at that camera, and yes, I do believe that Mycroft now knows, because of you, not me, but you, you and your adorable jealous reaction to me speaking to a woman.”

“Can you blame me?” Sherlock huffed. “The amount of women you’ve been with and dated is enough to fill—did you just call my reaction adorable?”

John tried and failed to stifle a smile, “Yes. I thought it was extremely adorable, and I really liked it, but that’s besides the point.”

Sherlock hung up his coat and smirked slowly, “What were you talking with her about?”

“That has nothing to do--”

“Do you know how close you two were standing?” Sherlock continued. “It looked very much like you were flirting with her, I’ve seen you flirting, that was you flirting.”

John rolled his eyes, “I can’t deny that she wasn’t a very nice looking woman, but I wasn’t flirting, Sherlock, I was being friendly. She knew me through her sister, obviously, and she merely wanted to introduce herself. She’s a fan; she’s read my blog and is completely smitten with you. If you had been in my place, then there would have definitely been some flirting, but only on her end; as it is, it was me that she met and gushed about you too.”

“You. Were. Flirting,” Sherlock said again, scowling and moving to slump down on his chair. “And I don’t care what people think or what people saw.”

“Yes you do,” John scoffed, walking over to him. “Or you wouldn’t have bothered showing off and giving me a kiss, something which, beforehand, took me pleading with you to have you do. You were jealous because you assumed I was flirting.”

“I never assume!” Sherlock exclaimed, crossly. 

John gestured animatedly, “You did today!”

Sherlock slunk further down in his chair and glowered, but looked away and picked at his knee, then drummed his fingers on the armrests. John exhaled deeply through his nose, stepped close, bent down and kissed Sherlock on the mouth and then on the cheek, something Sherlock tried to disregard but eventually appreciated by leaning into John’s attentions.

“Give me a kiss,” John murmured, smiling very faintly. “And I might forgive you.”

“Not sure I’m in the mood,” Sherlock said, eyeing John’s mouth and unable to stop a responding smile from forming on his own face.

“You mean you’re in a mood. Are you only ever going to kiss me if I beseech you or make you jealous?” John asked cheekily.

Sherlock looked skyward and turned his head away, “No.”

“Come on then,” John said, knocking noses with Sherlock playfully and then running a hand through Sherlock’s hair. 

Sherlock fought to keep his face blank but chuckled gently, his mouth twisting into a broad smile when John ruffled his fringe and nudged him with his nose again. He turned to face John properly, delighted at seeing John’s irises so close, and slowly, with an exaggerated sigh, lifted his chin and kissed John chastely. John grinned in reply and cupped the back of Sherlock’s neck, squeezing it firmly and lovingly, and then applying more pressure to the kiss before stepping back. 

“Right, have you eaten?” John asked as he walked to the kitchen, looking joyful and satisfied. “What am saying, of course you haven’t.”

Sherlock jumped to his feet and followed John closely, “I had some toast this morning.”

“That was this morning,” John told him, glancing back and then taking his hand, kissing the curve of Sherlock’s knuckles as he checked the fridge and the cupboards, opting for takeaway after inspecting what they had.

Sherlock walked around the living room with John whilst he was on the phone and then slowly, with a good-humoured smirk, began to dance with John across the carpet, waltzing with him when John laughed into the receiver and tried to pull away without success, messing up their orders twice before he was able to do it correctly.

Finally John ended the call, threw the phone on the union jack cushion on his chair and then gave Sherlock a half-hearted look of exasperation, still moving around in a fumbling circle as Sherlock snickered and swayed him with more purpose, directing him properly in the dance a moment or two later, pushing their heads together tenderly and sighing with a grin when John kissed his nose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback fuels me!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A talk to Mummy and celebration cakes.

“Well, I hope you’re happy,” John sighed as he threw the morning newspaper down onto Sherlock’s face who was lounging back on the sofa, and walked passed to gather up his laptop from the desk. “Now the whole of London knows; possibly the rest of the UK too if it’s hit the Internet, which it must have done by now…”

Sherlock sat up and scowled over at him, but regarded the paper with a flush, staring at the blurry photo of him kissing John timidly, only marginally happy to see the shock of delight in John’s expression. John sat down beside him with another sigh and Sherlock jutted his chin stubbornly, avoiding his gaze.

“Look how close you were standing to that…woman,” Sherlock said at last, waving the paper and then chucking it down. 

“Don’t start that again,” John scoffed, typing loudly and then rubbing his face in exasperation when his mobile chimed. “That’ll be Harry. Again.”

Sherlock arched his eyebrow in response and kicked the paper further away with his toe as he shifted up closer to John and hooked his chin over his shoulder, peering down at the mass of emails John had received because of the documented kiss in the papers. Sherlock hid his mixture of discomfort and amusement by pushing his mouth to John’s jumper and reached around to open one of the messages, frowning when John smacked him away.

“Hullo,” John mumbled as he answered the call from his sister, pushing Sherlock away when he tried to read another email. “Yes…well, we—No. No, I…I don’t know, Harry. I’m not saying that but I…Harry…Harry, listen a moment would you?”

Stealing the laptop from John’s knees, Sherlock sat back and away, dodging John’s annoyed swipe, and scrolled through the rest of the messages, finding a few of them amusing. John, still talking to his sister, narrowed his eyes and went after the laptop, grappling with Sherlock slightly and grunting when Sherlock scrabbled away with a huff of laughter.

“Harry—No, I swear I’ve not been keeping this from you or been in denial, it’s just recently that I…yeah…yes, but listen…we’re just taking things slowly…Harry, would you please let me speak?” John grumbled, following Sherlock and grabbing the back of Sherlock’s pyjama top, yanking him back to snatch the laptop back. “Harry, if you don’t let me speak I’m hanging up…”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and then turned just as Mycroft stepped in through the sitting room door, Mrs Hudson beaming and giggling behind him, brandishing the newspaper with a mad flutter of pages. Another image of them kissing was crumpled faintly under her fingers, and Sherlock noticed dots of tea from where she must have spluttered in her surprise and overall pleasure. 

“I’ll call you back,” John murmured, ending the phone call without another word and then smiling tightly. “Morning Mrs Hudson…Mycroft.”

“Ooo! I’m so happy,” Mrs Hudson tittered, moving around Mycroft’s looming figure to totter over and envelope Sherlock and John in a tight hug, pressing them both together firmly. “I always knew you two would get it together! How long has it been going on? Oh, what a delight it is! I can’t believe you both kept this from me; though I knew all along—Oh yes, I knew you two would work it out in the end!”

John returned the embrace in amusement and awkwardness, and then looked up at Mycroft with raised eyebrow, looking him in eye because Sherlock would not, “What are you here for then?”

“Well, I had assumed this was all a mistake that you needed rectifying, but…I see I was wrong,” Mycroft drawled, flashing Sherlock a quirk of his lips when he glanced up. “So, although a tad late, the happy announcement is here, is it?”

“Shut up,” Sherlock replied sulkily, winding an arm around Mrs Hudson as if the hug was quite important in that moment and he was busy because of it. Mrs Hudson cooed and smiled widely as Sherlock dropped his head to hers, his hair flopping into her eyes faintly.

“There shouldn’t have been an “announcement”,” John said in a breath. “It was meant to be private…it’s not exactly official yet—I mean, we haven’t named this thing we have, not properly. We were working through things and trying things…out.”

“Yet there are several angles of you two kissing plastered all over the papers and Internet,” Mycroft sighed, swinging his umbrella complacently. 

John shot Sherlock a half-hearted glare, “Yeah, well…someone was jealous that I was speaking—”

“Flirting!”

“—with a woman and thought it a great bloody idea to just randomly…kiss me in the middle of town!”

“He wanted me to kiss him,” Sherlock countered, arm still around a confused Mrs Hudson.

“Not in the centre of town, I didn’t,” John retorted, crossing his arms, blushing hotly and dropping his gaze. 

Mycroft exhaled slowly and then glanced between them, “Nevertheless, you and my brother are in some sort of relationship, yes?”

John glanced at Sherlock briefly and then nodded, ignoring Mrs Hudson’s squeak of joy, “Yeah.”

Mycroft nodded and then looked specifically at Sherlock, “Good, now, I have mummy on hold, please speak with her,” he murmured with a grin, pulling out a phone from his inner jacket pocket and holding it out to Sherlock.

Sherlock blanched and shook his head, “No.”

“Sherlock,” Mycroft started, taking a few steps closer. “You either speak to her on the phone…or she travels here to see you and you are forced to do it in person.”

Sherlock glared at Mycroft sullenly and then snatched the mobile away, stomping to his room and slamming the door behind him. He grimaced and paced, then took a few deep breaths, lifted the phone, taped the screen, and put it to his ear with a slow blink.

“Mummy?” He questioned gently, walking the length and width of his bedroom as she spoke to him. Sherlock was used to the longwinded one-sided conversations and rolled his eyes, dragged his feet, and finally sprawled out over his bed dramatically, humming in reply every so often. 

His father was in the background, giving responses every so often, but mainly his mother spoke to him, lectured him, and gushed with exhilaration at him at finding out that he was finally settling down. Sherlock was faintly surprised by his mother’s casual and pleased response to finding out that her youngest son might be in a relationship with another man; overall she was just happy that Sherlock had found someone to spend his time with, and Sherlock winced slightly and sat up, wondering if he should add that it might not be anything tangible, no matter what it looked like or was made out to be like in the paper. 

John knocked gently on his door after several long minutes had passed and Sherlock stood up, opened the door and walked out to pass the phone back to Mycroft without saying good-bye. Mycroft arched an eyebrow in dissatisfaction and bother, lifted the phone to his ear and left.

“Well?” John asked awkwardly, his stance radiating nervousness. “How’d it go?”

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Better than your phone calls with your sister,” Sherlock huffed, turning and flopping down in his chair. “Tea?”

John sighed but turned into the kitchen, “Mrs Hudson is going to bake us some cakes, by the way…in celebration.”

Sherlock bent for the discarded newspaper, “Oh, good. I hope they’re fairy cakes, I love them.”

John paused and sniggered with a choked off cough, “Is that meant to be some sort of joke? Fairy cakes?”

“Maybe,” Sherlock replied with a quirk of his mouth, flicking his eyes to John with amusement and then hiding behind the paper. “I noticed you received a “congratulations” email from Sarah Sawyer…”

“Shut it,” John said. 

“I think her exact words were “Finally! I always knew you and Sherlock had a thing for each other from the start,”” Sherlock quoted, pitching his voice high in an over-the-top impersonation, mimicking a whiny female voice and then dodging aside when he heard John stride over to snatch the paper away from his face and make a grab for him. 

John crooked his finger, “Come here…”

Sherlock shook his head and backed up, ““I bet the sex is exciting and saucy,” she went on to say, “just like the adventurous cases you write about in your blog.” Nice to know she still reads that drivel,” he continued on, jumping away from John’s swipe with an automatic laugh. “Must still have a thing for you, eh, John? Why else would she put up with your terrible writing skills and atrocious grammar?”

“That’s it,” John muttered, suddenly dashing forward to grab Sherlock around the waist and all but pick him up, spinning him around and dropping him on the sofa. John grinned down at him, pinned Sherlock’s wrists, and dived in to comically kiss Sherlock’s face, blowing a raspberry against his neck when Sherlock dissolved into uncontrollable laughter.

“You know…there’s quite a lot of paparazzi out front,” John told him as he tugged Sherlock up to stand beside him after Sherlock’s laughing had subsided, his arms securely pulling Sherlock close. “And they’ll probably be out there for a while too.”

Sherlock huffed and craned his neck to try and see outside the window from his position, unwilling to leave John’s arms to check for sure. John smiled against his shoulder and then dragged him into the kitchen as he finished making them both teas, one arm hooked around Sherlock’s middle, with his hand smoothing up and down his side. Sherlock savoured the attention and leaned further into him, resting his chin on John’s head with a smirk at the resulting, playful pinch to his hip in gentle reproach. 

“Here, do something useful, stir in your sugar,” John told him, thrusting a teaspoon in Sherlock’s hand and then dislodging him from John’s hair by turning his head up to kiss Sherlock’s mouth. “Give me eight slices of bread too, while you’re at it.”

“What for?” Sherlock murmured, kissing him back before John turned away, happy to see him beam contentedly in response.

“Sandwiches,” John replied, squeezing Sherlock firmly and closing his eyes with satisfaction when Sherlock dropped his mouth to John’s forehead.

“I’m not hungry,” Sherlock groused.

John shot him a frustrated expression, “If you can eat fairy cakes, you can eat sandwiches.”

“Sandwiches aren’t as tasty,” Sherlock complained, stifling his grin when John snorted and kissed his arm as he reached passed for the bread bin. 

“You big kid,” John muttered warm-heartedly, stroking Sherlock’s back and shoulders, pulling him along as he moved around the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback fuels me!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning breath kisses and movie night promises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is so cute but so random! It has almost no plot at all, but I love it so!

Sherlock awoke to John leaning over him with a grin that crinkled his eyes attractively, and frowned, squinting up at him in the morning light. John lifted his eyebrows in response, smoothed a hand through Sherlock’s bed mussed hair, and dropped a kiss to his chin; he seemed to be overly mischievous and Sherlock was instantly suspicious, trying to pull his brain up from the fog of sleep. They had shared John’s bed the night before, and the pillows and covers smelt strongly of him as Sherlock turned his face away and tugged the sheets up to his nose self-consciously.

“What?” Sherlock murmured.

“I was thinking,” John said, wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s middle and dragging him close, pressing heat to his side and moving to talk against Sherlock’s forehead, breathing into his fringe. “That maybe…we should go on a date. A proper one. With more than one candle. And you eating too.”

“No,” Sherlock grumbled.

“No?” John huffed; caressing Sherlock’s back with pleasurably firm strokes that made him arch in delight. “Why not?”

“What, besides being hounded by the media?” Sherlock asked sarcastically. “I’m not hungry. I don’t want to eat out, even when I am. And we’ve been on hundreds of dates already…you just refused to see them as such.”

John pinched Sherlock’s side and then dragged him up out of the covers to be at head level with him, “And, exactly whose fault was it that the media are out to get us? Oh, that’s right! Yours!” John said with a half-hearted glare. “Fine. We can stay in. Make a night of it.”

“No,” Sherlock whined, struggling against John’s hold and trying to turn away. “No dates, of any kind!”

“We can order in,” John continued with a smirk, securing his arms tighter around Sherlock. “Watch a movie together—actually, there is something I’d love for you to see. You might like it. It’s called ‘Taken’, with Liam Neeson in it.”

“I don’t know who that is,” Sherlock complained, wriggling harder with a wail of annoyance, entangling his legs with John’s in his effort to escape.

John was watching him struggle with amusement, “You will after we watch the movie.” He told him, chuckling when Sherlock tried to shimmy down through his arms and only ended up rucking his pyjama top up around his face in the process. “Where are you going, Sherlock?”

“Away,” Sherlock replied, voice muffled until John pulled him back up and kissed his cheek and then his mouth, before Sherlock turned his face away. “No. No—stop! Morning breath is so horrid…”

John only grinned and licked his jaw, then kissed his mouth again, laughing when Sherlock tried to get away all over again, “Just kiss me and I’ll stop. One kiss. I want a morning breath kiss.” John giggled, smearing his mouth down Sherlock’s neck and then back against his lips until Sherlock stopped fidgeting and allowed the kiss.

It was overly moist and hot, and Sherlock shuddered involuntarily, opening his mouth to John’s tongue and then exhaling roughly through his nose in arousal before jerking his head back. John smiled widely at him and stroked his face, petting his hair fondly, and then finally letting him go. Sherlock scrambled off the bed and made a show of wiping his mouth, something that made John laugh, and then Sherlock stomped to the bathroom.

When he emerged, John was in the kitchen in his dressing gown, brewing them some tea and fixing them a light breakfast. Sherlock shuffled over and dropped his head on John’s shoulder and followed him around, clinging to the back of his gown and tugging at for John’s attention when he continued to go about business without acknowledging Sherlock’s presence. 

“Yes?” John mumbled as he buttered their toast. 

“I prefer my bed,” Sherlock told him casually. “Why don’t you just stay in my room?”

“Because I prefer my bed,” John replied with amusement. “And where would my things go? And what would my bedroom be turned into? Hm? Probably some sort of mini laboratory, knowing you…”

Sherlock made a thoughtful sound in the back of his throat and then grinned when John reached around and smacked him gently, “Now there’s even more reason for you to stay in my room. I’ve always wanted my own lab. I can picture it now—Just think, I’d not be using the kitchen table any longer, which means you can’t moan at me when I inevitably spill acid somewhere.”

“No, Sherlock! You will not go changing my bedroom into a laboratory!” John said sternly but with a hint of playfulness, looking at him with warmth in his eyes. “Now, sit down at the acid scorched table and eat your breakfast. Here. Take it. Eat it.”

Sherlock grabbed the offered plate and mug, and slid into the nearest chair, watching John putter about for a moment more and then snagged his arm to make John sit down with him. He narrowed his eyes when John smiled at him after a few seconds, crawled one of his hands over to capture Sherlock’s own as he took a quick sip of tea with the other.

“You’re going to make me watch that film tonight, aren’t you?” Sherlock mumbled.

“Yeah,” John nodded happily, biting into his toast, smearing jam over his lip. “You’ll love it, Sherlock.”

“I don’t see how.”

“Because Liam Neeson, first off, is a legend, and secondly…his character is bloody brilliant. Think James Bond but…more violent and gun savvy.”

Sherlock shot John a look of contempt, “I hate James Bond.”

John rolled his eyes, “He’s not exactly like James Bond…just…well, okay, it’s not at all like James Bond—but the point is, the film is amazing; his character is, for want of a better word, epic, and you’re watching it with me, even if I have to hold on and make you.”

“I’ll just escape to my mind palace then, if you’re going to be like that,” Sherlock huffed, drawing patterns across John’s knuckles and then down his wrist, fascinated by the change in texture. 

“Just watch it with me, Sherlock. Please?” John sighed, gesturing with a half eaten crust. “You’ll happily waste away hours watching horrible daytime TV and Jeremy bloody Kyle, but you won’t watch one movie with me?”

“Aren’t people meant to “get off” with each other and not watch the movie at all, when they’re on a date?” Sherlock asked nonchalantly, grinning when John inhaled some crumbs and coughed, pulling his hand away to thump on his chest.

John blinked away tears and took a large gulp of tea before speaking, “Don’t do that! And—Christ, no…not…not all the time. That’s mostly clichéd rubbish and…and something teenagers do when they’re not at all interested in the movie but into each other instead.”

“What if I’m not interested in the movie?” Sherlock grumbled in annoyance, recapturing John’s hand and studying each fingertip. 

“…Are you saying you just want to snog me?” John asked with an arched eyebrow, nudging Sherlock with his foot under the table. 

Sherlock scowled light-heartedly and took a gulp of tea, “No.”

John snorted, “Sure.”

“Fine. Yes. I would rather snog you than watch some silly movie,” Sherlock told him sulkily, biting violently into his toast and smiling sneeringly with his mouthful.

John smirked and motioned to him with a tip of his mug, “It’s not silly, but we can snog if you want,” He said, tilting his head slowly and looking Sherlock up and down with a snigger, shaking his head, his hand turning to entwine their fingers tightly.

“What?” Sherlock frowned, glancing himself over.

“You’re adorable,” John told him, sitting back in his chair and glancing purposely at their hands. 

Sherlock sighed and stared at John, unimpressed and frustrated, “Shut up.”

“Are there any movies you do like?”

“Of course,” Sherlock said with a lift of his shoulder, as if John should know better than to ask such a stupid question.

John looked at him expectantly and then leaned forward on the table, lifting Sherlock’s hand to rest against his mouth “And?” he laughed. “What are they? What do you like?”

Sherlock exhaled and ruffled his hair agitatedly, “I like…classics—old black and white movies and whatnot.”

“Such as?”

“…Well, such as; Crooks Anonymous, Billy Liar, School for Scoundrels, The Ladykillers, Great Expectations, Oliver, The Long Good Friday, the…the Monty Python films and…the Carry On films…” Sherlock murmured, peeking up at John under his fringe and then eating the rest of his breakfast, wiggling his fingers into John’s lips.

John was staring at him with wide eyes and a growing smile, “You…you like the Carry on films?” he asked. “Which?”

“The good ones,” Sherlock replied vaguely.

“Pick your favourite,” John implored, leaning his head on his hand with amusement and gesturing excitedly with their joined hands. “Come on!”

Sherlock pulled a face but gave in after John continued to nudge and kick him under the table, “Oh, I don’t know! It’s either Carry On Up the Khyber or…Carry On Constable—although… I did like Carry On Sergeant. See? I don’t know. I can’t pick,” Sherlock told him, throwing his hands up in the air in defeat and taking another drink of tea.

John seemed utterly delighted at the supplied information and prodded him with his big toe playfully, and Sherlock couldn’t help but smile back and chuckle into his tea, poking John back then trapping his ankle with both of his feet, tugging John low in his chair impishly until John cried out and almost tipped to the floor, the chair he was perched upon skidding backwards with a groan.

“You started it,” Sherlock laughed pointing at him and then leaping from his chair when John grabbed for his finger and then his arm. “John, come now, don’t start something you can’t handle!”

John chased him around the sitting room and when he caught up with him he cupped Sherlock’s face and pulled him down for a breathless kiss, rubbing noses with him and grinning. Sherlock scoffed with a broad grin of his own and nuzzled one of John’s palms briefly before John let him go with another lingering kiss. They went their separate ways after that and Sherlock watched from the window as John bypassed the nosy media to meet his sister at a nearby café, as she had called him nonstop until he had agreed to meet and talk to her in person. He could see from the tense of John’s shoulders that she was drinking again, and stepped back just as a camera arched up towards him from the street. 

Sherlock hoped that John would not end up allowing his sister to follow him home and dropped heavily in front of John’s laptop, deliberately ignoring most of the messages transferred from his website with a roll of his eyes, only skimming through a select few but abandoning them when nothing caught his attention. 

He thought of his and John’s blooming relationship in the silence and stillness that followed, and tried to make more sense out of it, tried to figure out if he liked where it was heading and if it would be easy to go back to how things used to be if he did not; back to when John wouldn’t share his bed and give him hugs and kisses every morning. Sherlock grimaced at the thought and shook his head, getting to his feet and pacing, then turning to stare at the skull. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” He huffed, folding his arms. “What? I know, all right, I know this could be—no, that this definitely is bad. Bad for brainwork, bad for the future, bad for…everything. What if he wants more than this? He’s bound to; am I right? Always trying to get his leg over that one…” Sherlock stifled the raising laugh and glanced back at the skull, patting his head and then wandering around the flat aimlessly, checking the time and moving to rest down on the sofa to wait for John to come back. He felt almost lost without John near him and stupidly but hopelessly missed the sensation of being gripped and held by him with a shaky sigh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback fuels me!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talk of sex during 'Firefly' and homemade flapjacks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how much more you lovely people want with this. Please let me know if you want me to continue this, because I could, definitely, for as long as you want. I love this story. I just want to make sure you are all still loving it too!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> p.s. sorry about all the references to films and TV shows that I like!

“Do you want to have sex with me?” Sherlock asked outright after four months of their new relationship had gone by, looking down at their entwined hands and then over at John as he spluttered and coughed, lurching forward from the sofa they were sitting on together and spitting up half his mouthful of tea. “Is that a no?”

John looked at him and wiped his mouth with the back of his other hand, “Where on earth did that come from?” he asked, voice strained, wet and croaky. 

Sherlock shrugged and shook their joined hands, “You like sex. Immensely. You, unlike me, cannot go without a sexual deed to—”

“Now, hang on a minute!” John exclaimed, turning to face him properly and frowning. “That’s not true. Sherlock, I…I’ve done without it.”

“Not for long,” Sherlock said with a sniff, examining his fingernails. “Even in Afghanistan you masturbated. Frequently.”

John sighed and narrowed his eyes, “And how would you know?”

“Because I know you,” Sherlock told him with a quirking grin. “Don’t think I don’t hear you in the shower, and before you go to sleep, and sometimes before breakfast, and—”

“Okay! I get your point, that’s enough of that,” John grumbled, rubbing his face as he blushed and cleared his throat. “Are we really going to talk about this? Now? In the middle of watching ‘Firefly’? Really?”

Sherlock pursed his lips and glanced at the TV screen for a silent moment before he answered, “Yes. I’ve seen this one. Mal finds himself married to a seemingly very naïve, dull, acquiescent young woman named Saffron, through a very pathetically stupid marriage ritual by accepting—”

“Yes, I know,” John interrupted. “We’ve seen them all, but still…it’s ‘Firefly’…there’s no talking during ‘Firefly’.”

Sherlock snorted with a grin and waved at the screen, “It’s a DVD, John.”

“There is no stopping or pausing ‘Firefly’,” John added, pointing a finger at him and then lunging across as Sherlock snatched up the remote and held it out of reach. “No! Don’t you do it, Sherlock! Don’t you dare desecrate the rules of ‘Firefly’! No, don’t—And you did…”

Smirking Sherlock kept the remote away from John with a deep chuckle, tussling with him and falling off the settee in the process, landing with John on top of him.

“So you do want to have sex with me?” Sherlock snickered, rolling over the floor and throwing the remote across the sitting room, scrambling at a giggling John as he dived after it. Sherlock wrapped himself around John’s body and laughed into John’s stomach as John dragged him strongly along the carpet as reached for the remote.

“Christ your heavy…” John grunted, reaching down instead to envelop Sherlock and yank him to be at head level. “Okay…listen, we don’t have to have sex. I know you’re not into it—and to be honest with you, I really don’t think we need to. Do you know what I mean?”

Sherlock shuffled and leaned up on his elbow, resting his head on his upturned hand, “Nope.”

John rolled onto his back and covered his face, then peeked through his fingers at Sherlock with a sigh, dropping his hand and mimicking Sherlock’s position, “You realise how ridiculous we both look right now, don’t you?” 

“This is a real issue,” Sherlock told him with a soft frown. “I know you like an active sex life, John, so I want to know what you expect from me?”

“Nothing,” John replied instantly, scratching the back of his head and touching Sherlock’s arm when Sherlock shot him an annoyed expression. “We’re still…trying this out, aren’t we? I know it’s been a while now, but…this is still new to me. I’ve not wanted to do anything like this with a bloke before…ever…and I…I don’t know what I’m doing. It’s like being a teenager again and fumbling about, being all…befuddled.”

Sherlock smiled, “Befuddled?”

“Befuddled,” John nodded with a matching smile. “Right now, I’m completely content with just hugging you and…kissing you…and holding hands every now and then.”

“And sharing a bed.”

“Yeah, that too,” John said with a grin that made Sherlock flush with affection. “That’s all great. I don’t need anything else. I have you and…our…crazy, dangerous and adventurous life together, and that’s all I need right now, it’s all brilliant! Anyway, I can always just have cheeky wanks in the shower, that I’ve now been informed that you know all about.”

Sherlock laughed and then reached out to pick at John’s sweater fretfully, “If…you did want more though, and I wasn’t interested in doing that, would we be all right?—what I mean is, could we still go back to how we were before all this?”

John’s face stuttered but he nodded and grabbed Sherlock’s hand in his, “Yeah. Yeah, course. We’ll always be…you know, best friends, nothing is going to change that. Nothing.”

“Good,” Sherlock said quietly with a tight smile, feeling awkward and oddly hollow.

“Right, come on, enough talk,” John said overly casual as he pushed up to his feet and walked over to pick the remote back up.

“I suppose we could give it a try though…if you wanted?” Sherlock said vaguely as he moved back to the settee, sitting on it shyly and running a hand through his hair. “I…could give it a try. For you. If you wanted to do…that. Although I’m not entirely sure how I’ll react nor if I’ll enjoy any of it—it’s nothing against you, you understand, I’ve just never been that interested in the carnal acts of sex.”

“We’re fine,” John mumbled, shaking his head and sitting close, slipping an arm around Sherlock’s waist and kissing Sherlock’s cheek. “It’s fine.”

Sherlock grimaced lightly, dubious and worried, but unwilling to continue to chase the subject for any longer. With a silent sigh, Sherlock relaxed back into John’s side and dropped his head on his shoulder, not really paying attention to the TV anymore but instead staring down at his hand resting on John’s knee, eyeing the way it fit perfectly into place. John tightened his arms around him, almost instinctively and definitely possessively, and Sherlock felt a smile tug at his mouth as he curled up and pressed his face into John’s neck.

Without his knowledge, Sherlock had somehow drifted asleep, and currently found himself rousing to the sound of Mrs Hudson cooing and trying to speak as softly as she could, unable to stifle her squeak of joy at how Sherlock had buried himself further into John during his unplanned afternoon nap. John’s voice vibrated through Sherlock’s lips as he replied to her and Sherlock peeked through his lashes to find his mouth squashed to John’s throat warmly. Sherlock blushed but pursed his lips in a light kiss and smirked at the resulting shifting of John as he tensed and pulled Sherlock closer, mashing his face and mouth harder into John’s neck as he continued his conversation with Mrs Hudson as if nothing had transpired between them.

He thought back on everything as he inhaled the scent of John from behind his ear and wondered if they ever could go back to the way things used to be if things ultimately didn’t work out, because Sherlock wasn’t exactly sure. Sherlock knew at that moment that he wholeheartedly liked the new shift, even if he still thought it had and would ruin things and cause more problems for them both, Sherlock enjoyed having John close by at night and occasionally in the day; liked feeling and hearing the beat of John’s heart, sometimes in sync with his own. They had been close before, there was no question on that, but they hadn’t been allowed to relish the sensation of human contact as much as they had done since the shift; Sherlock hadn’t known how much he’d end up savouring and anticipating each hug and kiss and affectionate touch as much as he did. Of course, they didn’t always touch or hug or kiss, they weren’t glued to each other’s sides day in and day out, but they did touch more than they ever used to before, spending time just holding hands or pressed shoulder to hip on the sofa, and Sherlock adored it immensely.

When, not if, but when things didn’t work out, as Sherlock knew they statistically wouldn’t, things would no doubt be awkward and empty between them for a while, no matter what John had said to the contrary; then John would start dating again and Sherlock would be left alone and cold in the flat, unwilling to move without any reason to. They wouldn’t share a bed together, they wouldn’t touch hands or link fingers, and they wouldn’t kiss and hug. Sherlock felt his heart ache and he kissed the skin of John’s throat again, leaving his mouth faintly parted to breath in the taste of him.

Sherlock hated himself for feeling, for allowing it to get as far as it had, and for being his own worst enemy. When John would decide to stop their relationship for something and someone better, Sherlock wasn’t sure how he would inevitably take it. He recalled what had started it all, remembered how frustrated he had been, how much he had struggled and fought to get away from the clinging embrace of John; he had wanted nothing more than to be apart, than to push Jon away, and had felt nothing but irritation at being trapped by him. Sherlock huffed at the memory, pushed it aside, and turned his attention outwards, registering the words being spoken around him.

“…And I’ve made you two some homemade flapjacks with chocolate and caramel—” Mrs Hudson was saying before she was interrupted by Sherlock whom jerked and fought his way from John’s arms to bound over and take the offered plate with a wide smile and a kiss to her cheek. “Oh!”

“Thanks Mrs Hudson,” Sherlock murmured, stuffing one of the slices into his mouth whole and groaning in pleasure, talking awkwardly with his mouth full. “You’ve outdone yourself, once again! You should make some scones next.”

Mrs Hudson beamed at him and waved him away, “Sherlock, don’t talk with your mouth full, it’s not polite.”

Sherlock shrugged and balanced the plate on his hand as he picked up his mug and jingled it in John’s direction, “I’m thirsty!”

John sighed and got up with a shared smile with Mrs Hudson, “Don’t eat them all yourself, I want one—actually, hand one over.”

“No,” Sherlock said around his mouthful, lifting the plate out of reach and strolling around him to stretch out on the sofa. He watched John putter around the kitchen and complain about him to Mrs Hudson in a fondly exasperated way and felt his heart ache again with a frown before placing the plate atop of his chest in response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback fuels me!


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets jealous, again, and their relationship becomes more or less official.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Lestrade.
> 
> Enjoy!

Sherlock glowered at the sniffling woman as she slumped and cried against John’s shoulder, curling her arms around him and clinging to his shirt, whilst John’s face crumpled with sympathy; he returned the embrace with an arm around her waist, patting her back and handing her a tissue. Sherlock folded his arm tightly and wondered if he should bring up the fact that the woman was a compulsive liar and was just as good at turning on the waterworks as Sherlock himself; Lestrade moved to Sherlock’s side with a glass of Lager and a smug grin, and Sherlock lowered his gaze to his shoes.

“Sorry about her,” Lestrade murmured over the rim of his glass, licking foam from his lips and nudging Sherlock’s side. “Why don’t you go show her that John’s yours, eh?”

“Why did you even invite her?” Sherlock complained snappily with a hard glare that made Lestrade blink widely with a laugh. “Besides the fact that you’ve shagged her.”

Lestrade covered Sherlock’s mouth with one hand roughly, “Oi! Keep your voice down, yeah? I don’t want people knowing that,” he whispered, letting Sherlock go when Sherlock elbowed him. “And I didn’t invite her, thank you very much. She was here when I arrived and just…mingled. I tried to get rid of her but then she started…this crying bollocks. I can’t be doing with crying women. They…scare me.”

Sherlock arched an eyebrow, “Scare you?”

“Yeah. They make those…faces, you know? And, you never know if they’re angry crying, happy crying or sad crying,” Lestrade muttered to him, taking a gulp from his glass and then gesturing with it. “Which do you think it is?”

Sherlock glanced at her fleetingly and then shrugged casually, “It’s the I’m-just-crying-to-make-you-feel-sorry-for-me-so-you’ll-take-me-home-and-possibly-stay-the-night-if-I-batter-my-fake-eyelashes-enough crying,” he muttered huffily. 

Lestrade snorted and shook his head, “John won’t fall for that, even if he wasn’t with you,” he told Sherlock. “John’s not an idiot, nor is he that bloody desperate—go on for Christ’s sake, go get him!”

“Why do I have to go get him? He wandered off on his own! He’s the one that started talking to that crying wench,” Sherlock exclaimed, turning and sitting down on a stool at the bar. “Why do I have to—?”

“John!” Lestrade bellowed, followed with a high-pitched whistle, getting John’s attention and then pointing at Sherlock with a curling smirk. “Your boyfriend wants you!”

“I am not his boyfriend,” Sherlock growled with a blush as everyone grinned over at him and Lestrade winked, patting his back roughly.

“Did the job,” Lestrade told him with a breath tinged with alcohol. “She’s buggered off now. Stupid cow. Doesn’t she read the newspapers or watch the news?”

“Hey, did you have to, Greg?” John asked when he was within talking distance, his arms folded. “Now everyone’s…leering.”

“Let them leer!” Lestrade shouted with a sweep of his arms before he pulled John into Sherlock. “And stop talking to teary women with massive “issues”. Your boyfriend is the jealous type.” 

“I am not his—!” Sherlock started, cutting himself off when Lestrade moved John into his line of sight. Sherlock eyed John’s face and then turned away to glare at the bar, tapping at the polished wood with his fingertips. He wanted to go home, Sherlock had only turned up because John had insisted he at least try to be social with Lestrade every so often; John had first stated it would just be Lestrade, Sherlock and him, but it actually turned out to be Lestrade, his friends, John and his friends, and then Sherlock. Then John had wandered off to console some woman and left Sherlock alone. 

“Why are you jealous this time?” John sighed as he leaned into his side. “Hm? Sherlock? Hey, will you look at me? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Sherlock intoned curtly when John moved to the other side of him to catch his eye. “Absolutely nothing. Leaving me alone with your friends to go comfort some strange woman is perfectly fine with me. Why would I have an issue with it? Why would anything be wrong with that?”

John rolled his eyes and after shooting Lestrade a look, leaned close, “It’s not as if you don’t know my friends. I spent an hour and a half introducing you to everyone. Anyway, you know Mike, you could have talked to him. And there’s Greg, you like him, remember? You told me once that he’s the only competent person in the whole of Scotland Yard!”

“Aw, you did?” Lestrade smiled as he sidled up beside Sherlock.

Sherlock shook his head with a sigh of annoyance, “I only came here for you. No one else. Therefore I don’t want to talk or be with…anyone else,” Sherlock said, mumbling the last few words and swallowing with difficulty, trying to ignore Lestrade’s widening smile.

John sat down on Sherlock’s other side and covered his hand, huffing when Sherlock yanked it away, “Sherlock—look, I’m not interested in anyone else, okay?” he told him earnestly, looking at Sherlock as Sherlock stared off into the distance stubbornly. “Have I really done or said anything to give you the impression that I would do that to you? You really think that I’d just go off with some… totty when I’ve got you? Even when we weren’t…whatever we are, I’d drop plans with women to be with you, wouldn’t I?”

“He’s got a point,” Lestrade butted in with a nod, bumping Sherlock’s arm.

“I’m not jealous,” Sherlock muttered, scowling when Lestrade scoffed loudly. “I’m not! I just don’t like being fobbed off for some stranger who just so happens to have breasts. She wasn’t even upset, not properly, she just wanted you to feel sorry for her and maybe give her a pity fuck—”

“Don’t swear,” John cut in with a flush, clearing his throat and sliding an arm around Sherlock’s back. “What if she did want that? You really think I’d take her up on the offer?”

Sherlock glanced at him and shrugged, “You’ve done it before.”

John gaped in shock and scoffed, “What? When?”

Sherlock drummed his fingers along the bar edge and then picked up a coaster idly, “In the past, you must have.”

“I’ve never done that—not when I’ve been with someone. I might have if I was single, but I’ve never, ever, cheated on someone. I can’t believe you’d even think I’d do that, Sherlock,” John told him, looking hurt and then angry.

“You’re not “with” me though, are you?” Sherlock muttered sharply. “Not properly. So I don’t know what you will or will not do with women.”

John frowned at him deeply and then let out a breath, tugging Sherlock to his side with a twitch of a smile, “Are you saying you want it to be proper, then? I only thought not to make it official yet because I didn’t think you wanted it to be? I know what you’re like; you don’t do…this. You’ve never been interested in anything like this since I’ve known you. I thought it would be best for both of us, but especially you, if we took it really slowly and didn’t label it…but if you want to, we can label it—truth be told, it’s always be there, Sherlock. We just never acknowledged it.”

Lestrade nodded as he leaned into them both happily, “So true. Always the voice of reason, John.”

“Oh, will you go away?” Sherlock barked shoving Lestrade aside and grumpily staring at him as Lestrade chuckled and stumbled back a few steps with his hands lifted in good-humoured submission. 

John waved him away with a small grin and then turned back to Sherlock questioningly, “Well?”

“Fine,” Sherlock grumbled lowly, not looking at him as his heart skipped and he blushed hotly. “But don’t call me your “boyfriend” it’s too…childish.”

“Okay,” John chuckled, squeezing Sherlock’s side cheerfully. “What about my…beau?”

“No!” Sherlock said shortly, turning to glare at him. 

“My fella? My…suitor? My significant other? My sweetheart? My darling? My—”

“Partner,” Sherlock interrupted him loudly, ducking his head when Lestrade whooped. “Like…before but…not. Obviously.”

John beamed at him and propped his chin on Sherlock’s shoulder, “Obviously,” he whispered, pulling Sherlock close. “When we get back, I’m going to kiss you. A lot. Just thought I’d warn you.”

Sherlock felt his mouth twist on a smile and nodded, turning his face away, “I’ll take heed of your warning. Thanks.”

“Just kiss you…all over your face,” John went on, gazing at him with so much affection that Sherlock shivered with a timid laugh. “Even your ears won’t escape my attack!”

“I’ll make sure to lock myself in my bedroom until you’ve calmed down then,” Sherlock said, playing along and tipping his head with a flutter of his eyes when John slipped his fingers through Sherlock’s hair.

“If you can make it there without being kissed in the process, sure,” John laughed, rubbing his fingertips along Sherlock’s nape. “But, on a serious note, you’ve got to stop being jealous of any and every woman I happen to talk to. No one measures up to you, okay? They’re nothing compared to you. They’re normal and boring and dull—and that woman before, was normal, annoying and marked one of my best shirts with her tears and runny mascara.”

Sherlock grinned and looked over at it, reaching to tug at the smear of black on his blue shirt collar and shoulder with a tut, “Serves you right,” he murmured, snorting when John turned to catch his hand in a messy kiss.

“You two finished talking now? Can I come back?” Lestrade suddenly asked, hardly waiting for an answer before he pushed up against them contentedly, wrapping his arms around them both. “Hey, when you get married, can I be the best man? I already have the speech prepared, you see; got all the embarrassing yet humorous and lovely stories about you both, complete with pictures and little side notes.” 

John laughed and swatted Lestrade in the back of the head, “Shut it!”

“Which one of you would be the bride?” Lestrade went on, dodging another hit and slipping off around the bar with a cheeky grin. “Probably Sherlock, eh? You’d look awful in a dress, John—ow! Throwing coasters, really, John? That’s abuse! That’s assault that is!” Lestrade burst into energetic laughter when John grabbed him and play fought with him across the room, chucking him into the laps of his friends who all hooted with hilarity.

Sherlock watched them with a faint smile and walked over to sit down with John when he motioned for him to do so, entwining their hands and taking the offered drink from a beaming Mike. He regarded John from the corner of his eyes throughout the rest of the night and was unable to get Lestrade’s playful comment of marriage out of his head no matter how hard he tried. The idea made him feel uneasy and sick, and made his heart hammer in such a way that Sherlock inwardly winced with rising anxiety, and a sudden blooming flush of emotion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback fuels me!


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Declarations of love and a surprise appearance by Mummy Holmes.

Sherlock stared over at John as he replied to comments on his blog, again, possibly still related to their relationship, again, even though it was clearly old news by now; and Sherlock licked his lips, clearing his throat once, and then twice, before he took a breath and froze, unable to utter the words he had been repeating to himself over and over again for over two weeks. Sherlock glared and turned his back to John, pacing in the kitchen irritably. Perhaps he just didn’t mean it? No, that was wrong, he did mean it, he just didn’t know in what way he meant it. Sherlock took another breath and turned around to look at the back of John’s head.

“John?” He started, feeling his throat close up and his heart stutter when John shifted in acknowledgement. “John…I…I have something I want to say to you.”

“Yeah? What is it?” John murmured, peering around at Sherlock briefly with a smile. “You okay?”

“Fine. Shut up,” Sherlock retorted with a frown, walking over to sit in his chair opposite, and then standing again and pacing before the fireplace. “Just…just shut up a second.”

John blinked and laughed softly, “Okay—”

“Quiet!”

John huffed and glared half-heartedly but didn’t respond and went back to his slow typing with a shake of his head. Sherlock looked at him and worried his lip between his teeth, then bit at his thumb, and raked his hands through his hair with a rough ruffle. He wanted to say it, he had to say it, John had said it and he had never said it back and he wanted to at that moment, had wanted to for a while in fact, but had, for some reason, been unable to. 

“John,” Sherlock began, taking another breath and turning to face him, awkwardly staring at John’s shoes. “I…love you.”

John stopped typing and was silent for so long that Sherlock grimaced and glanced up to his face, but John was smiling widely; he put his laptop aside as he stood and Sherlock shifted on his feet uneasily as John walked slowly over to stand toe to toe with him. Sherlock scowled feebly and crossed his arms, fidgeting under John’s gaze, half-turning away from him.

“What?” Sherlock snapped. “You’ve said it to me. So…I’m saying it back. It’s what people do, isn’t it? I thought you wanted me to say it so, I’ve said it—stop looking at me like that! I take it back. Forget I said anything.”

John rolled his eyes and then grabbed at Sherlock’s arm when Sherlock bolted for the door, “Oh, no you don’t,” he muttered in amusement just before he enveloped Sherlock in a tight embrace and kissed him on the mouth, chuckling against his lips when Sherlock frowned. “I love you too.”

“I know that,” Sherlock complained, talking between pauses in John’s soft and happy kisses. “Do I have to say it again now that you have? Do you want me to say it again? You do, don’t you?”

John grinned and nodded, “Yeah.”

“I love you, John,” Sherlock said with a melodramatic sigh, stumbling forwards when John moved back to sit down in his chair again and dragged Sherlock down onto his lap. “What are you doing? You can’t just manhandle me whenever and wherever you wish, John!”

“I love you too, Sherlock,” John replied with hint of mischief on his face as he arranged Sherlock across his lap and tucked his arms around him, pulling Sherlock firmly to his chest, still kissing him and then cupping his jaw, rubbing his warm fingertips into the faint bristle of Sherlock’s growing stubble.

Sherlock enjoyed the sensation of being squashed awkwardly into John’s body but glowered up at him, “…You’re doing this on purpose now. I shan’t keep saying it,” he muttered, shifting up and squirming to get into a better, more comfortable, position, accepting a kiss on the mouth from John in the process with a pleased exhalation. 

“I love you,” John murmured, kissing him again when Sherlock had settled properly, and holding the back of Sherlock’s head to kiss him once more, smiling into Sherlock’s chin and then finally leaning back, the fingers of one hand trailing over Sherlock’s cheekbone and over the shape of his top lip.

Sherlock snorted, and turned into the caress, smiling back widely, “I’m not saying it again, John. You’ve had your lot now,” he told him with a haughty sniff.

“Just once more,” John said, shaking Sherlock gently with a teasing sulk and holding him tighter, touching noses with him. “Come on, just once more?”

“No,” Sherlock laughed, pushing John’s face aside.

“Give me a kiss then?” John grinned, lifting his eyebrows and moving an errant curl from Sherlock’s temple with immense adoration. 

Sherlock swatted him away irritably but sighed and leaned up to bump his mouth into John’s playfully, “For _fuck sake_ ,” he murmured, huskily. “I love you.”

John shuddered with a breathless giggle and was suddenly kissing Sherlock with eager intent, his close-mouthed kisses becoming slick and zealous and overly impassioned. Sherlock swallowed thickly at the sudden shift and shivered, opening his mouth in response to John’s probing tongue and clutching at his arm as a douse of arousal coursed through him and forced him upwards into John a little more. John’s lips curled into a smile and he grunted softly, cupping Sherlock’s jaw to tilt his head and kiss him deeper.

Sherlock shied back slowly and John followed him, almost leaning completely over him as he kissed him again passionately, kissing each lip in turn and then finally pulling back with a dazed and happy expression, his cheeks flushed and his heart hammering. Sherlock stared at the pulse in his neck and then quickly looked away, reaching to grab for John’s laptop for a change in subject, pulling it over to scan the screen and shift through the windows and tabs John had left open. 

He brought one window up with a look of shock and distaste. “Is…is that my mother?”

“No,” John replied sarcastically, gazing at Sherlock fondly. “It’s another Mrs. Holmes who has a son called Sherlock that I’m living with.”

“You’re talking to my mother on Skype—John, why are you talking to my mother on Skype?” Sherlock demanded, reading the messages between them and sitting up a little with a blush. “I can’t believe you’ve been going behind my back and…oh God, she’s calling you…” 

John laughed and instead of answering his questions, reached over Sherlock to click accept before Sherlock could stop him, “Hello Mrs. Holmes,” John greeted, arms still wrapped around Sherlock as he immediately wriggled and struggled to escape, wiping his mouth roughly to get rid of the evidence of what John and he had been doing.

“Ah, John—and Sherlock!” She exclaimed happily, beaming at them both and then looking stern as Sherlock continued to try and get away. “And what do you think you’re doing, young man? Did you know I’ve been trying to call you? I’ve left you dozens of messages but you’ve not replied to any of them—Your father is here if you want to talk to him?”

“No!” Sherlock replied quickly, shooting John a glare when John tightened his hold to keep him in place. “No, that’s quite alright, mummy—”

“I tell you, we had a horrible time at the supermarket today,” she started, bringing Sherlock’s father into shot as she changed seats, seating herself on the settee with her laptop. “Didn’t we dear? Just terrible!”

“Terrible,” Mr. Holmes agreed, smiling at Sherlock and lifting a hand to John. 

“We went there at nine in the morning,” she started, to which Sherlock dropped his head back with a low groan of complaint. “And it was packed with people, just utterly and completely packed!”

Mr. Holmes inclined his head, only half listening it seemed, “Packed.”

“Oh dear lord,” Sherlock muttered, covering his face and then peeking out at John with a dark glower. “I can’t believe you’ve done this, John. You better sleep with one eye open tonight…I mean it.”

John snorted and listened politely as Mrs. Holmes went on and on; his hands squeezed and stroked Sherlock’s arms, back and shoulders throughout before sneaking into his hair and massaging his scalp. Sherlock blinked slowly, feeling his face relax and his expression soften, and twitched as he slumped with pleasure into John’s shoulder, his mother’s voice droning in the background as he enjoyed John’s touch. John began talking back to his mother but Sherlock could hardly concentrate enough to listen or make out what they were saying to each other.

John’s voice vibrated through him and Sherlock moaned slightly with a lethargic smile, turning to push his face into the collar of John’s jumper, happy to note it was one that he favoured the most on John. He blinked languidly, gazing at the fabric close up, and quivered with a breath when John tickled his fingers up his nape, bringing wave after wave of pleasant, echoing, tingles through him.

“Sherlock? You will promise to ring and keep in touch a bit more often, won’t you? I don’t want to keep bothering, poor John,” Mrs. Holmes said, her words breaking through to Sherlock only after John nudged him gently and stopped his caresses.

“Hm?” Sherlock murmured, lifting his head sluggishly, his entire body thrumming with relaxation. “Yes, mummy.”

She smiled at him widely, “Good!” she said, winking at John. “Make sure he does, won’t you, John? There’s a good lad. Speak soon, love you both!”

When the call ended John turned and kissed Sherlock’s forehead, “You shouldn’t ignore your mother, Sherlock.”

“And you…you shouldn’t talk to her behind my back,” Sherlock scowled briefly, letting his eyes close. “I can’t believe you added her on—”

“Oh no, she did that,” John laughed, rubbing his lips over Sherlock’s brow fondly. “She found and added me. Apparently she’d done her own bout of detective work and gotten hold of me. Once she added me I couldn’t very well ignore her, so I accepted, and have been chatting to her, off and on, for about a week.”

Sherlock huffed, “You could have ignored her. I do.”

“Yeah, I know you do,” John sighed, kissing Sherlock’s nose and then tipping his chin up to kiss his mouth. “The whole reason she got hold of me was because of you.”

“I bet Mycroft gave her all the information,” Sherlock grumbled under his breath, shoving the laptop away and putting it down on the floor. “He’s invited us to the theatre, by the way.”

John looked surprised and then suspicious, “Mycroft? Huh…why’d he do that then? What’s he after?”

“I hate the theatre,” Sherlock grumbled as he stretched and sat up on John’s thigh, slapping his own cheeks to get more alert. “Everyone smells.”

“Smells?” John repeated with amusement.

“Smells,” Sherlock nodded, slipping to his feet and waving his hands around animatedly. “And they fidget and talk and yawn and breathe—it’s torturous. Almost as bad as going to the cinemas and having to put up with the children running about all over the place, with the shouting and crying and asking stupid questions.”

“God, I love you.”

Sherlock turned to face John with a flush at the tone of John’s voice and returned the smile John flashed at him, “…I love you too, John,” he whispered before he smirked friskily. “I love you more, in fact.”

John shook his head slowly, his smile growing bigger, “Not possible.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback fuels me!


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Promises of dancing and singing in the bed.
> 
>  
> 
> It's been so long...I am so sorry...I hope I've not lost my touch with this amazingly fun and adorable story?

Sherlock watched as John slowly stirred from sleep and opened his eyes to smile widely at Sherlock, “Watching me sleep now?”

“You say that as if this is the first time,” Sherlock rumbled with laughter, bending down at John’s prompting and allowing John to kiss him on the cheek with a dramatic eye roll. “I’m bored. I want tea and toast.”

“God forbid you make it yourself,” John said as he yawned and sat up, checking the time with a deep frown and a half-hearted glare. “It’s six in the bloody morning, Sherlock. On a Saturday. Come back to bed.”

“Bored,” Sherlock exclaimed, leaping to his feet and pacing the length of the bedroom irritably. “How do you “normal” people stand it?”

“Excuse you,” John mumbled and rubbed his face resignedly, watching Sherlock pace for a short moment before he lunged across the bed, snatched at Sherlock’s arm, and dragged him down underneath him, pinning him by the wrists with a faint grin. “Still bored?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said and turned his head away, trying to look annoyed but only ended up blushing with an eager small smile when John pressed down against him and kissed at his throat. “I need a case. I need something to stimulate my mind—I’d love a kidnapping. Or a theft. Possibly a triple murder, though I feel that would be pushing it.”

John chuckled as he made his way down Sherlock’s neck, nuzzling his collarbone, “Probably,” he agreed and kissed the middle of his chest through his shirt. “Is this a new shirt?”

Sherlock frowned and glanced down at the top of John’s head, mouth and nose pushing into his hair, “If by “new” you mean “rarely worn,” then yes,” he answered and inhaled the scent of John with a stretching smile. “Those shirts you bought me were too small, remember? I all but popped a seam putting them on. You should have measured my chest and shoulders. I’m quite board shouldered, if you haven’t noticed.”

“You almost pop seams anyway,” John laughed as he lifted his head and tapped the straining buttons. “I swear you buy shirts one size too small, just so it stretches enticingly whenever you move or breathe.”

Sherlock scoffed, “All my shirts are custom made.”

“Liar,” John smirked and pressed a wet kiss to Sherlock’s recently shaved chin, running his lips along Sherlock’s jawline and nosed his way into Sherlock’s hair, trailing his hands down Sherlock’s upstretched arms. “I can’t really imagine you standing still for even the short amount of time it takes to get proper measurements—you might have once had them custom made but now you just order them online, don’t you? I’ve never once seen you bring back any sort of shopping.”

“You are not around me 24/7, John,” Sherlock stated in a rumble, squirming a little on the sheets as John’s hands drifted down his chest to cup his waist. 

“Thank God,” John replied with humour, squeezing Sherlock’s sides with rough and strong hands. “I’d probably go mad.”

Sherlock scowled and rolled his eyes when John’s touched sudden turned clinical and moved over his ribs, “If you comment on my eating habits, I’ll bite your ear.”

John pushed a kiss into his hair and turned his head to trail kisses down over his cheekbone, “…You really should eat more though, Sherlock.”

“You’re asking for it, you realise?” Sherlock replied and kept his face serious even as John beamed and rubbed noses with him, kissing his lips lightly and then with more pressure, slipping his hands up to cradle Sherlock’s head and jaw. Sherlock’s compliant was swallowed and muffled by John’s tongue and lips, and he shifted on the bed beneath John uncomfortably.

“I love you,” John whispered when he pulled back, trailing a thin line of saliva between their mouths that Sherlock broke with a blush, turning his head aside. “And as much as I wish I could magically whisk up something for your brilliant, beautiful mind to work on, I can’t. So, how about you stay in bed with me for a bit longer, then we could possibly—?”

“If you suggest the cinemas or something as equally monotonous, I shall be extremely cross,” Sherlock told him and brought his arms down to slip around John’s body. “How long must I put up with you? I want tea and toast—I don’t often ask for food, as you know.”

John rolled his eyes and kissed him again, rubbing the stubble at his cheeks over Sherlock with a wicked glint and a mischievous smile, “You have to put up with me for as long as I say so.”

Sherlock smiled slowly and glanced pointedly at the watch on his wrist, “Can you not give me a specific timeframe?” 

“No,” John told him and kissed him once more, his arms wrapping around Sherlock’s frame tightly, firmly, pressing him up against John’s warm body and crumpling up his clothes. “You love it anyway. I know you do.”

“Possibly,” Sherlock intoned with the barest of smiles, his fingers and hands smoothing down John’s heated back and rucking up the vest he wore to slip up his naked skin. Sherlock fingered the scar lightly and then dipped his fingers down John’s spine, resting them on his lower back. “Did you annoyingly squash your girlfriends into the bed?”

John huffed and began combing his fingers through Sherlock’s hair, “No,” he murmured and peppered a few more kissed over Sherlock’s cheeks and forehead. “Didn’t love them enough to squash them.”

“Lucky me,” Sherlock chuckled dryly with a half-hearted glower.

“Mm. You’re very blessed,” John replied and nudged his cheek against Sherlock’s. “You’re one of a kind. Makes sense that my treatment of you is as unique as you are.”

Sherlock eyed him, “Charmer,” he mumbled with a wide and unfurling smile that hurt his cheeks and made John only squeeze him tighter and kiss him more. “…We could go dancing?”

John pulled back to look down at him and Sherlock avoided his gaze for a moment, “Dancing?”

“If you want,” Sherlock shrugged as nonchalantly as he could. “Much better than the cinemas at least…”

“Sure,” John laughed. “Though I can’t dance. Like, at all. And hundreds of people are going to be taking photos of us together for the entire event.”

“I could teach you,” Sherlock told him and drifted his hands up to rest against John’s neck, caressing him tenderly and then tracing his ears with sudden fascination. 

“I love you,” John said after several seconds of silence where John stared down at Sherlock with dilated pupils.

Sherlock sighed dramatically, “I love you too,” he replied, looking up at John and then smiling when John tilted his head and stroked his capable fingers down Sherlock’s face. 

“All right. Dancing it is,” John nodded and suddenly rolled over, bringing Sherlock with him and securing Sherlock atop him. “You’ll need to book it though, I have no idea where to even start looking…I’ve never actually taken anyone dancing—not properly anyway. I’ve gone to clubs and danced like a loon in a pub, but I’ve not gone to a place that’s solely for people dancing—What would I even wear?”

“I don’t care,” Sherlock shrugged and leaned up with his elbows perched on John’s chest. “I just want to dance with you.”

“You like dancing that much, huh? It’s not that big a surprise, actually, now I come to think about it. You move with this sort of elegant, precise grace,” John muttered as he curled an arm behind his head and reached up to caress Sherlock’s face some more. “How long have you liked dancing? And what sorts of dancing?”

“All sorts,” Sherlock answered vaguely, leaning into John’s touch and then dipping his head down to quickly kiss John’s chin with a grin at the overly pleased expression suddenly blooming over John’s face. “I have quite a few passions. Dancing, music, chemistry, and crime being only a select few—I’m sure you have quite a few yourself?”

John jerked up one shoulder loosely, “Yeah, but, you probably know most of them.”

“You’ll be surprised,” Sherlock said with a small exhale of breath as John touched his fingers to his pulse point somewhat intimately. “I don’t know everything, John. I can’t read minds either, no matter how strongly you believe I can. You are still quite the enigma when you want to be. You’re still very interesting. You’ll always be interesting. I don’t think I could ever tire of you. Ever.”

John grinned boyishly and flushed, “Good to know.” He whispered and leaned up to kiss Sherlock with a slow and passionate slide of lips until Sherlock slumped down against him keenly. “…I like singing.”

Sherlock’s eyes gleamed and pulled back with a quirk of his mouth, “Singing?”

John nodded, “And music, too. I used to play the clarinet. Was quite good at it as well. I really enjoyed it.”

“Sing to me,” Sherlock demanded with a playful expression, wriggling on John and straddling his waist as he sat up a little, eyeing the blush on John’s cheeks. “Don’t be shy.”

“What do you want me to sing?” John chuckled as he shifted under Sherlock and pushed the pillow back as he pulled himself into a sitting position with Sherlock settled on his legs whilst he leaned back against the headboard. 

“Anything,” Sherlock replied casually. 

“I can’t believe you’ve put me on the spot,” John muttered under his breath as he rubbed his face and looked off to the side thoughtfully. “All right. I’ll sing a song my grandfather used to sing to me as a child…it’s, um, it’s called ‘Wild Mountain Thyme’ as well as other names…”

Sherlock nodded eagerly and watched John’s face closely as he kept his eyes down and then cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair uneasily. Sherlock smirked and nudged him in the thigh, lifting his eyebrows when John glanced up at him and smiled.

John cleared his throat again and with a hand on Sherlock’s knee began to slowly sing to him meekly. Sherlock tilted his head and covered John’s hand with his slowly, stroking his knuckles as John sang lowly, his confidence very gradually increasing with every word, every line. Sherlock had heard John sing before, mostly in the shower when John thought Sherlock was out, but hearing it up close and without a wall and the sound of water between them, was far better than he ever thought possible. Knowing the song John had chosen, Sherlock waited for a few more lines and then deliberately tapped out the beat on John’s fingers and sang with him, smiling widely when John stuttered a moment before he carried on.

When the song ended, John leaned forwards, “You know the song?”

“A little,” Sherlock admitted with a sly expression. “It’s a folk song written by Francis McPeake. McPeake's lyrics are a variant of the song "The Braes of Balquhither" by Scottish poet Robert Tannahill, a contemporary of Robert Burns.”

John huffed and nodded, “So…what did you think? My singing?”

“I liked it. You should sing more often,” Sherlock said as John leaned further forwards to kiss him softly over and over again, as if he couldn’t stop. “And…you should buy a clarinet…so we can make music together.”

John’s smirk was wide and a little filthy against Sherlock’s mouth, but he kissed Sherlock again just as softly, “It’s been a while, Sherlock, I doubt I’ll remember how to play…”

“Nonsense,” Sherlock scoffed, enjoying John’s attention more than he’d like to admit. “Now, will you please get up out of bed? I’ll arrange the dancing for later on in the afternoon. I’m sure I can find a place where we won’t be pestered as much by a sea of camera phones.”

John continued to nuzzle and kiss him, smoothing one hand up Sherlock’s chest to settle over his heart, “I’ll try and dress up nice.”

“I told you, I don’t care what you wear, as long as you are there.”

“That rhymed,” John giggled immaturely and cupped the back of Sherlock’s neck to play with the soft curls at his nape. “I’ll wear my ‘date shoes.’”

“It’s not a date,” Sherlock complained even as John brought him into a deep and fanatical kiss that Sherlock melted into and sighed. “John, for goodness sake…”

John pushed him back and drummed his fingers against Sherlock’s collarbone, “Fine. I’ll get up and make your soddin’ toast and tea, okay?”

Sherlock leaped up off John’s legs and the bed in one bound and sauntered to the door, touching his mouth and rubbing idly at the stubble burns on his cheeks, “Sing whilst you do it, too. Thanks.”

“Only if you hug me as I do so,” John bargained. 

“I’ll play my violin instead.”

“No.”

Sherlock shifted sullenly in the doorway, “How long must I—?”

“Until I say so,” John replied quickly as he slipped from the bed and stretched. “And don’t give me that look, I know you enjoy it.”

“No. I enjoy it when you hug me, not the other way around. Too much effort on my part then. It’s tiresome,” Sherlock mumbled sullenly, only realising his slip when John closed the distance between them to embrace him firmly. “I didn’t mean now—and don’t kiss me again. I’ve had enough of your morning kisses to last me a lifetime and more.”

“Nah,” John beamed and comically, messily, pecked at Sherlock’s cheek, patting his backside as he moved passed. “Wait for me downstairs then.”

Sherlock blinked and touched his bottom and wandered off, descending the stairs into the living room before he pursed his lips and fought back the sudden and somehow manic urge to smile and laugh in happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback fuels me!


End file.
